


Acid on the Horizon

by pixie_rings



Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, sendak is a kaiju
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:26:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: With Shiro gone and only Keith left, the Jaeger Gridelin Leo needs a new co-pilot. Enter Lance, a cadet Marshal Allura has seen potential in.And far away, on the horizon, something stirs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another attempt at a multichapter. I'm gonna see this one through if it kills me.
> 
> (I am aware that there is already a Pacific Rim AU. I have not read it. However, I am of the opinion there can never be too many.)
> 
> Come and chat with me on [Tumblr](http://materassassino.tumblr.com)!

_**December 2024** _

They called the Vancouver Island Shatterdome the Castle of Lions. They'd finished building it in 2017, under the supervision of the Pan-Pacific Defence Corps, the first of its kind in the western hemisphere. In its glory days, it had housed ten Jaeger units, and defended the West Coast of North and Central America from some of the meanest Kaiju around. It had been a beacon of hope in dark, dark times.

Lance McClain Sanchez could hardly believe it. The letter had been personally signed by Marshal Allura Fala herself (a living legend), a huge middle finger to that piece of shit Iverson who hadn't thought him capable of getting within fifty feet of a Jaeger unit (and constantly reminded him of it), and yet...

He clutched the letter in his trembling hand, swallowing as he gazed up. The structure was immense, bursting at the seams with human life, swarming all over the place, each with a purpose. And yet... he could see it at the edges: the rust, the hairline cracks, the subtle wear and tear. He could almost hear the place groaning as it ached. The Castle of Lions felt like a swansong, a beehive before the queen left.

“Are you gonna move?!” demanded the driver of the jeep that had so graciously driven him to the door. “Some of us have got things to do, yanno?”

Lance scrambled out of the jeep and quickly grabbed his duffel bag, and the jeep sped off, honking its horn as it went on its way, almost skidding on the wet tarmac. He looked up again, still unable to take it all in.

He dumped his bag on the ground and whooped, punching the air, ignoring the stares and laughter. He couldn't have cared less right then.

He was there. He was actually _there_ , at the Castle of Lions, the greatest Shatterdome of them all, and he was a _candidate_. He was going to pilot a Jaeger. And not just _any_ Jaeger, oh no... the infamous, incredible, one-of-a-kind masterpiece of modern machinery that was Gridelin Leo.

* * *

Marshal Allura Fala was a walking dichotomy: she looked soft, with her warm skin, slim figure and cloud-like, pure white hair, but anyone with even a basic knowledge of the battle between humanity and the Kaiju knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that her core was titanium. She was unflappable, unbreakable and unstoppable.

And _highly_ intimidating.

She went slowly along the line of five candidates, taking long, hard looks at each of them. The heels of her practical black court shoes clicked on the cement floor, and at every sound, Lance resisted the urge to flinch. He was at the end of the line, and every step that brought her closer to him made him more and more nervous, like his stomach was tying itself into knots.

She didn't dedicate any more time to him than any of the others, just looked him up and down, her expression unfathomable. She marched to about five metres away, standing ramrod straight before them, her presence filling the room and demanding respect. No one even dreamt about not giving it.

“You know exactly why you're here,” she said. “I'm not going to sugarcoat it: the Jaeger program is dying.”

There was a tangible ripple through the line of candidates. Lance's insides went cold: they'd pulled the plug on the Jaeger program? _Why?_

“We've had too many losses in too short a time. You... are from the last classes to complete their training. We have three left. Only three, the only thing that can defend our species from attack while they build a senseless wall that will do _nothing_.” She drew in a deep breath. “And one of those three is missing a pilot. We need to replace that pilot as soon as possible.”

While she spoke, Lance noticed a movement in the shadows out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't help but turn to it, and while he couldn't make out any facial features, he could see the outline of the Ranger rank uniform and a pair of eyes narrowed in distrust. He quirked an eyebrow. Someone obviously wanted to be dramatic.

A throat being cleared right next to him made Lance jump. He turned back to the front to see Marshal Fala staring right at him. It was like his mother had been crossed with a hungry Utahraptor: he'd never been so terrified before in his life. He wilted under her icy gaze.

“Do you find my speech boring, cadet?” she asked, her voice deceptively smooth and quiet. Lance shook his head quickly.

“N-no, ma'am.”

“Let me remind you,” she hissed, getting so close to him he could smell her perfumes and see the flecks of grey in her tropical blue eyes, “that you – _all of you_ – are here because I ordered it. Don't disappoint me.”

She stepped away, shifted her focus to the other cadets, and Lance allowed himself a moment for his heart to settle again, fighting to keep his knees from buckling. It had been a near-death experience if ever there was one.

When he glanced back to the shadowy corner, the person was gone.

* * *

Gridelin Leo had to be _somewhere_ in the gargantuan labyrinth that was the Castle of Lions. There were, thankfully, a few signposts at every corner for the uninitiated, and as long as he didn't look too sneaky, he could go where he wanted unhindered. Technically, he shouldn't, but damn, how could he resist?

He'd been following Gridelin Leo ever since she'd first been announced: the first Mark V Jaeger unit to go into production, the cutting edge of technology, the magnum opus of advanced, macrorobotic science. And when he'd found out that none other than Ranger Takashi Shirogane, known to his fans as Shiro and Lance's personal hero since the tender age of eleven, would be piloting it, he'd had to have the first poster produced plastered over his bed. His roommate at the Garrison had mocked him, but he hadn't cared.

He ducked down a corridor, following the distant, but loud noise of mechanical work.

And Gridelin Leo had been everything he'd imagined she'd be: glorious, immense, powerful, the scourge of the Kaiju. She'd stood bold and undefeated against the onslaught until...

Well, everyone remembered Sendak.

The first Serizawa scale category IV Kaiju. Its gigantic left arm had torn through Gridelin Leo like butter – Lance remembered it vividly from the choppy news footage. The Kaiju had disappeared, and when Gridelin Leo had staggered back to land to collapse on Acapulco beach, the only form that had emerged from the carcass had been Keith Kogane, Shiro's co-pilot.

The sounds of maintenance became almost deafening, and Lance emerged into a cavernous room, bustling with people. There was a huge main thoroughfare, and on either side, like silent colossi, were the two remaining Jaegers: on the left Beezer Corsaire, the old Mark III, with its quirky conn-pod that gave it the appearance of cat ears, and on the left...

Lance's eyes widened. He had to bite on his knuckle to stop from squealing in amazement.

Gridelin Leo was just as magnificent in real life as she had been on tv and in photos. She was an incredibly dark purple, with the Japanese painting-style black lion emblazoned across her chest. Her conn-pod sat atop her broad shoulders, proudly looking forward. She honestly looked like she could have taken on the world.

There was, however, a fault in her: her right side was, unevenly, a slightly different colour, shinier, newer, like a scar on human flesh. Lance swallowed, and his heart ached. She was beautiful, but a war-torn, broken kind of beautiful. He walked up to her, ducking to the side out of sight, until he was close to her leg, close enough to touch.

“Sorry I'm not Shiro,” he said, “but I'll try my hardest to do right by you.”

“Pretty sure you're not supposed to be here, brah.”

Lance almost jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, too shocked to be nonchalant, and came face-to-face with a tall, broad guy with warm, dark skin and surprisingly kind brown eyes. He raised an impressive eyebrow at Lance, who just grinned sheepishly.

“Uh...”

The guy grinned. “Hey, I won't tell Marshal Fala if you won't,” he said. “I take it you're one of the candidates?”

He held out a hand, and Lance didn't hesitate to take it – for some reason, he trusted this man on sight.

“Yeah, that would be me. Lance McClain Sanchez, from the Arizona Garrison.”

“Hunk Garrett, techie-in-chief,” the other guy said. His handshake was firm, most of the warmth covered by his fingerless gloves, and his hand engulfed Lance's, but not nastily. He seemed like the kind of guy who gave good hugs.

Lance whistled. “You get to look after her?” he asked. He could help but look up at her again, in awe, his neck straining from trying to see her conn-pod from so close.

“Yep! Don't tell Beez, but she's my girl.” Hunk patted her leg affectionately. “Eighty metres and two thousand tonnes of awesome giant robot.” He clenched his fist and took a deep breath, lip wobbling with emotional pride.

“I hope I get the chance to pilot her,” Lance said. “She's easily the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

“You have excellent taste, my man,” said Hunk, nodding approvingly. He suddenly threw an arm around Lance's shoulders, and steered him away. Lance didn't complain – Hunk's weight was comforting, not intimidating. “Let me show you something awesome.”

The something awesome, it turned out, was the control room itself. Rows and rows of computers flanked the path towards an immense window that looked out onto the Jaeger bay. Right at the front, before the window, was a wide control panel, surmounted by dimmed holo-screens, and there Hunk sat proudly.

“You're the LOCCENT chief?” Lance exclaimed. Hunk grinned.

“Someone's gotta see everything goes to plan, right?” he said. His face fell and he sighed. “It doesn't always, though.”

Lance bit his lip. “Sendak?” he asked. Hunk stared out the window, and Lance knew he was staring at the visible seam on Gridelin Leo's chest.

“Yep.” Hunk turned back to him. “You know, you're the only one that's come to see her. Some of the others have been here for days already, but none of them bothered.” He looked Lance up and down, and smiled. “I'm glad at least someone cares about her.”

Lance gazed out, watching the sparks as adjustments were made, lights flickering, turning on and off, and people scurrying over her like ants, on the raised walkway and scaffolding. They were taking care of her, seeing to it that she could rise again, twice the warrior as before.

“She's gonna help us save the world,” he said. “Of course I care about her.”

Hunk clapped him on the shoulder and almost sent him flying into the console.

“I like you, Lance!” he said. “I hope you're the one that ends up in there.”

Lance blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hunk!”

There was the sound of running footsteps, and both Lance and Hunk turned to the source. A short _someone_ threw themselves at Hunk, draping over him melodramatically. Hunk looked down at his armful of person.

“What?” he asked, completely and, in Lance's opinion, admirably deadpan.

The short someone turned out to have a mop of sandy hair, huge round glasses and a champion pout.

“'What'? Is _that_ all you can say?”

Hunk picked them physically up and set them on their feet. The someone adjusted their glasses, and finally seemed to notice Lance.

“Oh, is this one of Allura's guinea pigs?” they said, peering at him critically, and Lance scowled. Hunk sighed.

“Pidge, this is Lance. Lance...”

“Pidge Holt, they-them, if you please.” A hand was held out and Lance shook it. Pidge's sleeves, he noticed, were rolled up to reveal two impressive full-sleeve tattoos of... Kaiju. One, he noticed, was Jormungand: it coiled around their forearm, mouth wide and electric blue, its crest sharp and vicious. It was painfully familiar.

“Interesting tats,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. Pidge grinned broadly.

“Yeah, they did a really good job, huh? Such a shame Jor had to curl around though. Curse my short arms! I'm one of the two resident k-scientists, here. Or, at least, the one actually _doing_ their _job_.” They rolled their eyes in annoyance.

Hunk frowned. “You know Sam's right about this,” he said. Pidge snorted, waving a dismissive hand.

“No, he's not!” They sighed. “I swear, Hunk, if he'd just let me try, I could crack it! I could reveal all their secrets!”

“Try what?” Lance asked, curious despite himself. Pidge looked up at him, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Can we trust him?” they said to Hunk.

“I trust him,” said Hunk. Lance's eyes widened in surprise, and Hunk winked at him. That seemed to be enough for Pidge, because they cleared their throat and beckoned Lance closer. Lance hesitated (he didn't know whether it was the tattoos or the babbling, but he wasn't entirely sure he actually liked them), but leant down.

Pidge cupped a hand around his ear. “I wanna drift with a Kaiju,” they whispered, and when Lance pulled back in shock, he noticed they were grinning manically.

“What the _fuck_?” Lance said. Pidge nodded.

“I'm positive we can learn so much about them from their brains! Their brains that _stay alive_ even after removal, if put in the right conditions!” They clapped their hands. “The possibilities are endless.” They deflated just as quickly as they'd become ecstatic – it was enough to give Lance whiplash. “But my father insists on fooling around with numbers instead of cold, hard biology, and I'm stuck.”

“He has every right to say no,” Hunk said sternly. Pidge groaned.

“One chance,” they said. “I only need one chance.” They looked back at Lance and gave him a thumbs up. “Good luck with the whole pilot thing, pal. You seem cool. I gotta go again.”

“You just came up here to complain?” Hunk asked, shaking his head. Pidge shrugged.

“You're my agony aunt, bud.” They sprinted off, back out the door, throwing a parting wave over their shoulder.

“They're... energetic,” Lance said. Hunk huffed, folding his arms.

“You don't know the half of it. They're an endless source of enthusiasm. Also... sorry about the tats. They... don't get it. They're from the East Coast.”

Lance couldn't help making a face. Of course. The Atlantic: safe, secure, no threats there. No devastation, no death, no contamination... It was easy for them.

“I take it you're from the Rim?” Lance asked. Hunk chuckled, but it was hollow and mirthless, thick with bitter memories.

“Hawaii,” he said, and Lance winced. After K-Day on Brisbane, a world still in shock had seen Roundhead emerge from the ocean and aim its ugly head at Honolulu. There'd been nothing left, once they'd sent the missiles.

Lance wasn't sure if the fight was easier if it was personal, or so much harder.

* * *

Marshal Allura Fala was not happy. Granted, happiness wasn't high on her list of priorities – no, that was saving humanity not only from giant abominations hell-bent on its destruction, but also from itself – and she was always not happy, but at the present moment she was profoundly irritated.

Keith stood, belligerent as ever, in front of her desk, arms folded, pointedly not looking at her. He was driving her insane.

“Why do you _insist_ on _fighting_ me at every opportunity?” she asked, allowing herself, for once, to sound weary. Keith shrugged.

“I think you know the reason why,” he muttered, hunching over like a moody teenager. It grated on her, to see him do that. It felt like blatant disrespect, and while Keith and authority had never had a mutual benevolent relationship, he had always shown at least some deference to her.

“I do,” she said, struggling to keep her anger down – lashing out wouldn't solve anything. “And it's ridiculous.” She stood, rounded her desk. Keith actually looked at her, nostrils flaring.

“How can you say it's _ridiculous_?!” he demanded, voice rising, cracking. “How can you _say_ that?!”

“Go and get ready. You have a compatibility test to deal with,” she said, unimpressed by his outburst. Keith opened his mouth, clenched fists shaking, and she raised an eyebrow.

Keith's mouth shut with an audible snap, he turned on his heel and stalked out. His attempt to slam the door in rage was thwarted by its sheer size, and it swung slowly shut, gliding back into place with a screech of metal.

She leant against the desk, legs trembling, clutching the edge. It was so _exhausting_ to constantly be strong. She looked down, at the fat, yellow ceramic mouse near the photograph on her desk, simultaneously the ugliest and most adorable gift she had ever been given, and the void inside her was suddenly three hundred times as deep and wide.

She took a deep breath and straightened up.

She must portray strength.

* * *

If Lance had felt nervous before, it was nothing compared to now. He was the last in line, and it was so hard to stand still. Next to him stood his fellow candidates, and opposite him, across the mat, was the straight-backed Marshal and Keith Kogane.

Keith was dressed much like Lance and the other candidates, barefooted, bare-armed, wearing only a vest and his uniform pants, hair tied back in a small ponytail at the base of his neck. He was waiting, on the mat, spinning his staff, and Lance could see the tension in his back, the rigidity of his shoulders.

Lance had never really cared about Keith, mostly envious of his position in the universe's plan. They were the same age, but damn, Keith was already piloting the most sophisticated Jaeger in the world, alongside Shiro, no less, and _he_ was still stuck in the Garrison, being constantly told he wasn't good enough. And ok, Lance might have had a _bit_ of a crush on Shiro, and he might have been a _bit_ jealous of Keith because of that, too. Lance had lost count of the daydreams he'd had about being in Keith's place (and wet dreams, too, though he'd never admit to those).

Of course, he never would have dreamt he'd one day be waiting to go up against Keith in staff-to-staff combat, desperate for the chance to become his co-pilot. He'd imagined it being Shiro waiting on the mat, with one of the bright, friendly smiles he was famous for, instead of a glowering Keith. And Keith did look _exceptionally_ angry, his eyebrows drawn moodily low and his jaw set, like the whole thing was a waste of his time. It was something Lance found incredibly annoying.

“Come on then,” Keith snapped. “Let's get this shitshow over with!”

The first candidate, petite and blonde, stepped onto the mat. She was tiny, but Lance had heard she was first in her class for hand-to-hand combat. It looked like it was going to be interesting.

It wasn't.

A mere seven minutes later, Marshal Fala's assistant uttered a dry “four-zero”. Blondie was on her back, staring up at the glass dome above, eyes wide and horrified, Keith's staff at her throat.

The next candidate, tall, wide and bald, fared no better. Keith was relentless, using every part of himself to completely destroy each of the people he went up against. It was obvious, _painfully_ obvious, that he saw each of them as opponents, and not as potential co-pilots. There was rage in his attacks, which often went past simply finding a gap in the other's defence and instead went right to exploiting it – there were going to be bruises to deal with later. He made contact, with every intent to hurt.

By the time the penultimate candidate was stomach-down on the mat, Keith's knee on the back of his neck, Lance wanted to run far away, but he was also... strangely aroused. Keith might have been an angry fighter, but he was also a powerful one: his muscles rippled, his eyes burnt, his body moved seamlessly, like he was born to do it. And Keith was attractive, really, with his thick, jet black hair, solid sinew and long legs. Even if he did have a freaking mullet.

“Four-one,” said the assistant, marking it down on her clipboard wearily. Keith rolled off candidate number four and got to his feet, wiping his brow with the back of his arm.

“Are we done yet?” he growled.

Marshal Fala's eyes narrowed, and Lance had to admire Keith's sheer cheek. If he'd been on the receiving end of such a look, he'd already have been writing his will.

“No,” she said icily. “There's one candidate left.”

Lance gulped. There was no backing out now.

He stepped onto the mat, flexing his fingers around his staff. Keith looked at him, raking his eyes up and down, and snorted derisively.

“That?” he sneered. Lance's hackles rose.

“You wanna fight, mullet?” he snapped, tilting his chin up in challenge, exactly the way his mother hated.

“Do remember that this is about compatibility,” Marshal Fala said witheringly. Keith's lip curled.

“I'm gonna kick your ass just like the rest of them,” he said, and there was a shocking amount of venom in his voice. “In fact, even fucking harder.”

Lance scowled. He wasn't gonna get away with that.

It was surprisingly easy to mirror Keith's style and compensate for its power with his flexibility. Keith was solid, full of rage; Lance was fluid, like water, and he had the powerful need to prove himself on his side. 

The first point went to Lance, and Keith looked like his parents had been murdered, when he realised the tip of Lance's staff was at his neck.

They were evenly matched, point for point, and the rest of the world disappeared: there was only the two of them, in this dance. Lance would dodge and duck, rolling out of harm's way, grateful for his dancer past. Keith relied on strength, slamming into Lance when he could, but Lance could feel, as the fight went on, that the kicks were getting lighter, less angry.

Lance slammed his pole into the mat, hooked one leg around the staff and the other around Keith's waist, and used the momentum to tumble Keith down, knocking the breath from his lungs. Lance had pinned him a third time, now practically straddling him, and he couldn't help but grin. Keith beneath him looked strangely... intriguing. Keith didn't seem to agree, because as soon as Marshal Fala's assistant called out the point, he was surging up, driving Lance to the edge of the mat, attacks sloppy but fuelled by rage, cornering him until he had a staff at his abdomen. Another point for Keith.

“Enough!”

They both stopped. Reality locked back into place around them, and Lance had to tear himself away from Keith's blazing purple eyes to look at Marshal Fala. To his eternal shock, she was smiling.

“I think we've found your new co-pilot, Keith,” she said. Keith actually dropped his staff.

“This idiot?” he asked, incredulous. Lance bristled.

“The fuck, dude?” he demanded, throwing his staff down and spreading his arms. “I kicked your ass just as much as you kicked mine! I can't be that stupid!”

Keith's head snapped back to him, his face twisted in utter loathing, tangible enough that Lance flinched. Keith got closer to him, right in his face, and poked a painful finger in the centre of his chest.

“You are _never_ going to replace Shiro,” he snarled. And with that, he whirled around and stormed off, only pausing to snatch his boots and jacket from the floor.

Lance rubbed his chest, glaring after Keith. “I don't want to,” he muttered.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to, like, the six people that have read this. Here's your second chapter!

Lance was bitter. It would have been hard not to be, when the person you were supposed to be partnered with was a major fucking dick. He softened his expression when Marshal Fala turned to him and nodded.

“Very well done,” she said. “I must admit, I haven't seen such seamless work for years now. I expect it when you enter the Drift, as well.”

Lance nodded vehemently. “ _I_ will definitely do my best, ma'am,” he said, saluting. The flicker in her eyes told him she'd noticed the emphasis, and she sighed.

“I expect to see you in the Drivesuit Room for your test Drift at 0730 hours tomorrow,” she said. “Don't. Be late.”

“No, ma'am.”

* * *

Allura left the kwoon room and allowed herself a moment in the hallway, closing her eyes, her breathing deep, steadying, meditation on the go to fight down the ache in her back. Her mind drifted, back to the compatibility test, and she knew she'd seen something incredible on that mat. She hadn't seen such a successful example since... She sighed, continuing down the corridor. She remembered what such unity was like, when combat turned into a dance, and there was something there, something electric and vibrant, and reality was nothing compared to the ebb and flow of bodies and minds, a Drift with no neural handshake.

She knew perfectly well Keith had sensed it too. But Keith could be dealt with later, with regards to eventual Drifting. Lance would be no problem, he was an open book, the underdog desperate to prove his worth, and here was his opportunity – if there was going to be any squandering, it would most definitely be Keith's fault.

She turned the corner, heading to the bowels of the Castle of Lions where the laboratory was.

Once upon a time, it had been heaving with k-scientists of every field, experimenting, searching for answers, united in the twin goals of knowledge and salvation under the watchful supervision of Dr Samuel Holt. Now, however, it was an empty husk, with equipment that was growing older by the day, and only two occupants.

Sam Holt was still there, having no reason to leave anymore, a rock in a surging sea. Allura knew she could rely on him. The other occupant was Sam's eccentric and slightly manic youngest child, Pidge. While Allura admired raw genius honed to perfection, there was something about Pidge's single-minded obsession that... worried her.

The tattoos did, too. Jormungand wasn't an issue, but Pidge's left arm, the way Naginata's immense, sharp crest curved around the paltry muscle... Allura didn't like to be reminded of old mistakes.

She strode into the laboratory without hesitation, and right into a father-offspring argument.

“-if you'd just let me _finish_ it-!”  
“No! It's too dangerous!”

“Then what's the fucking use of all this?!” Pidge flapped their hand in the direction of Sam's blackboards, scrawled with chicken-scratch calculations Allura could only understand half of. “What's the use if we don't know what we're up against?!”

“You're not going to do it!” Sam shot back, his voice cracking from the volume.

Allura cleared her throat. Pidge glowered at her, and Allura didn't bother giving them the time of day. She instead looked at Sam, who looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, Allura,” he said.

“What is today's war about?” she asked. Pidge turned, stalking back to their side of the lab, littered with gurneys and half-covered organic bits and pieces. In a tall jar, there were the remnants of the secondary brain of the thing which had almost cost them Beezer Corsaire. It still pulsated repulsively.

Sam glanced over at Pidge, who was making an artform of passive-aggressive donning of latex gloves, and leant closer to Allura.

“They... want to continue Matt's work,” he said. Allura's eyes widened.

“The Kaiju Drift?” she murmured. That was much more worrying that any other answer could have been. Allura remembered it, vividly, rushing to the lab to find a twitching Matt sprawled on the floor, bleeding from his nose and ears, eyes open but unseeing, still linked to a half-dead brain. And she remembered how she always made sure to send fresh flowers to his bedside every Monday, if only to honour his sacrifice. They were never getting him back.

Sam nodded. “I... can't let them. I can't. I can't lose another...” He trailed off, voice shaking, and raised a trembling hand to slide under his glasses and cover his eyes.

“I wouldn't ask it,” Allura said, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. “Talk to me. Tell me anything new.”

Sam took in a deep, shuddering breath, collecting himself, and then led the way to his blackboards. “I've done these calculations more times than I care to remember, but they always say the same thing... the attacks are getting closer, and they're getting worse. Based on the last one, the only predictable outcome is... a double event.”

Allura bit the inside of her lip, not allowing herself to betray the sense of hopelessness that spread through her at his words.

“And past that?”

Sam scratched his unshaven chin and shrugged. “A triple event? It won't stop, Allura. Not until they're pouring through it in their dozens, maybe hundreds. It seems pretty hopeless, doesn't it?” He sound falsely cheerful.

“There is always hope,” she said, before she could catch herself. The weight of the words, the voice echoing them in her mind, they were like a knife to her heart. It was a struggle to not press her hand to her chest, to ease the imagined pain. How many times had he said those words to her, to everyone?

Sam saw through her easily. He wiped his chalky hand on his jumper before placing it on her shoulder. “You're right,” he murmured, and she didn't know whether he meant it singularly or plurally.

Before she left, she headed over to Pidge. Pidge didn't look up from their dissection, but Allura knew perfectly well they'd be listening.

“No Drifting,” she said. Pidge stilled, eye twitching behind thick goggles. The silence lengthened, broken only by Pidge's breathing, deep, through their nose, until Allura turned on her heel.

She had other business to deal with.

* * *

Once upon a time, Lance might have called his parents, to tell them the good news, but what was the point, when even just seeing his face caused them pain? He texted his brother Art and his sister Morgana, and left it at that – they'd be happy for him, at least.

He tried not to think too hard about being alone. It didn't really work. Today was supposed to be one of the greatest days of his life, but it was fast becoming not all that pleasant at all.

Only half-present, he wondered about attempting to find the canteen. He never got there.

He found himself, to his utter terror, scooped up from behind and pulled into the biggest bear hug he'd ever experienced. Training kicked in: he lashed out with his foot, which made glancing contact with a kneecap, and as soon as he was dropped he whirled around, weight low and arms defensive.

Hunk was leaning against the wall, tears in his eyes. Pidge looked impressed, and gave him a slow clap which echoed in the corridor. Lance paled.

“Shit! Shit, Hunk, I'm so sorry!” He rushed over, unsure of what to do.

“No, I'm fine!” Hunk said, grinning weakly.

“He's really not,” Pidge said, grinning. Hunk glared at them.

“I won't surprise you, next time,” he promised. He rubbed his kneecap one last time before straightening up, gingerly resting his weight on it.

“I really am sorry,” Lance said. Hunk waved the apology away.

“Hey, doesn't matter. What matters is...” He threw a huge arm around Lance's shoulders, grinning from ear to ear. “Congratulations, Ranger!”

Lance blinked. He hadn't even thought about that. He wasn't a cadet anymore, was he? No, he was... he was officially a Ranger. He'd gone up about ten whole ranks, to captain-equivalent, in one day. Slowly, a smile that was so wide it hurt spread across his face, and he let out a whoop of laughter.

“I did it! I did it!” He ducked from under Hunk's arm, jumped for joy, punched the air, popped and locked his hips in a full circle and clapped his hands. “I can't believe it! I'm gonna be piloting a fucking Jaeger!”

Pidge whistled. “And he can dance too! We got ourselves a winner, here!”

Lance ruffled their hair, just to be obnoxious, but their protest was token at best.

“I think this calls for a celebration,” Hunk said, punching his palm. “By which I mean booze.”

“Is the gremlin of legal drinking age?” Lance asked.

“Ha! Doesn't even matter, beanpole, I'm high on preserving chemicals 24/7!” Pidge said, aiming a mean set of finger guns at Lance. “Also, we're in Canada.”

Hunk shrugged. “Eh, it's my booze, and as long as no one's hungover, I don't think the Marshal will even care.”

The bottle was only small, but the whiskey was smooth and smoky. They shared between the three of them, tacitly ignoring the fact that Pidge was only seventeen. They sat in a row on one of the now quiet walkways suspended over the bay, right in front of Gridelin Leo's magnificent conn-pod. Lance kicked his legs like a child, chin resting on his arms, and sighed a sigh that would have shamed any lover.

“I can't believe I'm going to be piloting her,” he said wistfully. moonlight poured in from the immense glass dome above, making her look otherworldly, like some relic of distant times and lost civilisations, beautiful and mysterious.

“Word gets around quick,” Pidge said, taking their third swig of whiskey and shaking their head violently. “I've heard your test with Keith was the best thing since sliced bread.” They handed the bottle back to Lance.

Lance took his own swig, savouring the taste as it slid down, warming his veins. “It was...” How could he even describe it? It had been like a dance, he supposed, but not a familiar one, and he'd danced with enough partners to know. They'd read each other like books, but there had been enough plot twists to keep the story interesting. And there'd been something else there, some kind of electrical current using the two of them as a circuit. He shrugged helplessly. “He's got nice biceps.”

Hunk laughed, taking the bottle as Lance handed it to him. “Be sure to let him know, when you Drift tomorrow.”

Nerves flared back up in the pit of Lance's stomach. He turned to Hunk, tapping his fingers on the railing. “What's it like?” he asked.

“Like a Vulcan mind meld,” Pidge said helpfully. Hunk made a face that sort of said they weren't far off.

“You're letting someone in,” he said. “It's gonna be... intimate. He's gonna see stuff, and you're gonna see stuff. The important thing is to be open, don't hide anything, and... don't chase the rabbit.”

Lance bit his lip. “Chase the rabbit?”

“Don't focus on one memory. Don't follow any single event, just let them flow. Have you ever just let your mind run? Do that. Just... be a sieve, not a bowl.”

Lance had to chuckle at that. “Fine, I'll do my best.”

They fell silent again, passing the whiskey between Hunk and Lance, Pidge refusing it when it was offered again. The thought, quiet even when it was in Lance's head where no one could see it, that he'd already made two friends despite being there only a day was profoundly reassuring.

“Thanks, guys,” he said. Hunk clapped him on the back and Pidge punched him gently in the arm.

* * *

Lance's alarm went off at 0630 hours. He kicked the covers off, blinking away sleep and shivering as the cool air of his room hit his bare torso. His heart was in his mouth, his stomach was a writing mass of snakes, and his head was full of worst case scenarios. What if he couldn't Drift with Keith? What if Gridelin Leo didn't accept him? What if the ceiling fell in on him right now and he died?

He went to the sink, stared at his reflection. His reflection looked a little pale, apart from the stubble on his chin, and it stared back with wide, terrified eyes.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he said to it sternly, and began his morning routine.

At 0700 hours, he was out the door, dressed and alert (jumpy would, perhaps, have been a better description). He found the canteen, where a tired-looking Hunk was nursing a mug of something that had the same consistency as tar and singed Lance's nose hairs when he caught a whiff of it. Lance knew, logically, that eating would be the wisest thing to do. Realistically, he would have just puked it back up.

He'd done simulations before. He had a ninety-eight percent kill rate, the second-highest in his class except for Johnson who'd dropped out because of a breakdown three months ago. He could do this.

“Where's Pidge?” he asked, desperate for a distraction.

“Probably still asleep,” Hunk said, yawning. “They're not an early morning kind of person.”

“Shame,” Lance said with a sigh, “you'd think they'd have wanted to see my amazing first Drift.”

“Brah, first Drifts suck,” said Hunk with a grin. Lance chuckled weakly and stared down into his own coffee. Maybe he could drown himself in it. “But hey,” Hunk continued, “I have faith in you. You'll do great.”

For some reason, Lance felt a little better.

Once he was actually in the drivesuit room, however, all the positive vibes Hunk had sent his way somehow dissolved into nerves. He slipped into his circuitry suit, and the sensation was strange, almost alien: it wasn't like anything he'd ever worn before. He was just getting used to his, running his hands along his forearms, when Keith walked in.

As soon as he laid eyes on Lance, his expression when from disgruntled to black, like the mere sight of the other Ranger ( _ohhewasaRangernowGod_ ) had completely ruined his day and it was never going to get better from this moment on.

Lance looked away, irritated at the taste of bile that rose in his throat. He couldn't help, though, turning every now and then, sneaking a glance at Keith tugging on his circuitry suit, jet-black sliding over pale, scar-peppered skin. It was hard not to notice how his skin moved over his muscles; Lance was only human, after all.

Technicians entered, slipping them into the pieces of armour that made up the bulk of the drivesuit. The spinal clamp slotted easily into the back, smoothing itself over Lance's own vertebrae seamlessly. He was handed his helmet, and he snatched a moment to just hold it and stare at it, at its tinted visor and curves. He swallowed.

“This is really happening, huh?” he said, mostly to himself. The techie who'd handed him his helmet grinned, but Keith simply snorted.

“Get moving,” he said waspishly, and made his way out of the room, helmet tucked under his arm. Lance took a deep breath, and then quickly followed. He wasn't going to rise to Keith's bait, not today. Not right now, when his future was a neural bridge away.

The conn-pod was bigger than he'd expected, full of tiny lights like the night sky, an incomprehensible (to him) mess of wires as thick as tree-trunks and valves and relays and other technological paraphernalia.

_“How are you boys doing?”_ Came Hunk's voice over the intercom, and Lance grinned.

“Lowering harness,” Keith said tonelessly, flicking switches before pulling his helmet on. Lance did the same, stepping onto the command platform, feeling the magnets in his feet lock into position. Technicians did the rest of the plugging in, for the connector and the oxygen. Relay gel filled up the helmet, and Lance did his best not to panic as the liquid covered his face and then dispersed through the suit.

_“I'll take that as a 'we're all fine, Hunk, thanks for asking',”_ Hunk said tartly. Lance sniggered.

_“Start the trial.”_ That was Marshal Fala, no-nonsense as ever. Lance knew how much was riding on this. He sobered up immediately.

_“Marshal on deck,”_ Hunk said, sounding ten times as serious as before. _“Engaging pilot-to-pilot protocol.”_ A smooth, robotic female voice repeated his words, and Lance swallowed. The HUD burst into life, splashing light on their faces, and Lance turned to look at Keith. His eyes were fixed ahead, emotionless, from what Lance could see.

_“Prepare for neural handshake,”_ Marshal Fala said.

Lance breathed in deeply, let it out again. This was going to be easy. He had nothing to hide, even if the prospect of diving headfirst into Keith's mind was intimidating as all hell.

_“Initiating neural handshake in fifteen seconds.”_

Lance concentrated on Hunk's voice, smooth and reassuring even when in Serious Technician Mode, closed his eyes, counted down the seconds along with the AI.

_Eight, seven..._

_“Remember, just keep it flowing,”_ Hunk said, and Lance knew it was entirely for his sake. He smiled slightly.

_Three, two, one..._

Everything sparked white, and Lance was falling.

* * *

_I'm so proud of you, mijo! His mother, kissing his forehead, a gap-toothed grin, eight years old, making the soccer team –_

_A woman coughing, a tiny apartment, long hair curtaining her face, a small boy in the doorway, frightened even though he doesn't know why –_

_Alejandra, blushing, leaning in closer, his hand going to her breast, anticipatory terror and elation and arousal pooling in his gut –_

_Running from the police along unfamiliar streets, signposts in Japanese, panting, searching for shelter and finding none –_

_A baby's face, huge eyes like his, a frail-looking monkey child, his father's arms helping him hold her –_

_Calm ocean, moonlit, the grind of gears and the scent of citrus and carburettor, a grin spreading across his lips_   
_He looks to the right, their movements in perfect synchronicity, the weight of the machine following their every move, Shiro grins back, it's routine_   
_They wait, the waiting is always the worst, it bursts from the sea, its roar deafening_   
_They rush forward, roaring themselves, energy from the need to defend, aim a punch in perfect unison_   
_They miss, its left arm is immense, thick with muscle, claws taller than a man_

Lance couldn't stop it from happening. Every time he tried to tear himself away, he couldn't. It wasn't him, this wasn't his memory, this had nothing to do with him, but he couldn't stop it. He could hear shouting, but he couldn't make out words. There was nothing in his reality but this.

_It rends the entire right side, pain beyond pain, it's never been this bad, Shiro is yelling_   
_Its mouth is THERE, teeth as long as his leg, Shiro covered in blood, snatched away in slow motion, connectors torn, reaching for him_   
_It's like his mind is being snapped in two, severed, he screams, Shiro there-but-gone, flickering, flatlining, he screams and screams and SCREAMS_   
_He raises his arm, readies the plasma cannon, shoots_   
_The beast bellows, Shiro dangling from its jaws, a speck, it turns_   
_He wants to chase, but it is gone, the wind howls into the conn-pod, everything is agony_   
_He has to get to shore_   
_Every step is excruciating, his nose bleeds, he can barely see_   
_He collapses, tears himself out of the pod, falls to the sand –_

* * *

It was as if Lance's mind had been torn from him, and then hastily replaced. The Jaeger powered down around them, and Lance was in agony. He tore his helmet from his head, tears streaming down his face, his mind spinning, unstoppable, too fast, _too fast_ – 

“I got ya, buddy.”

He couldn't stop trembling, even with Hunk's secure weight close by. His consciousness wanted to return to the surface, but it was swimming in a maelstrom of afterimages, burned into his mind's eye, along with the nightmarish sensations.

He let Hunk lead him out of the conn-pod, into air that smelt of sparks and metal, less claustrophobic. Marshal Fala stood there, and though Lance couldn't see it (couldn't see anything but what Keith had shown him), her face was thunderous. Hunk avoided her gaze.

“Let's get you to the infirmary,” Hunk said softly, and Lance gave in the soft comfort of blackness.

* * *

Allura didn't know how she was controlling herself. She watched Hunk practically carry Lance from the conn-pod, taking deep breaths to stop herself from simply ripping something to pieces. Lance then blacked out, and Hunk, bless his soul, was actually carrying him. That was the final straw.

She marched into the conn-pod. Keith had taken his helmet off, his pupils dilated, forehead dripping, a look of twisted triumph on his pinched face.

_“Get to my office!”_ she snarled. “NOW!”

Keith did as he was told.

He stood there, taunting her his folded arms and flippant expression, and she felt the desperate urge to claw her nails down his face, to take out this rage on him in some manner. She merely dug them into her palms.

“What did you _do_ to him?!” she demanded, voice echoing off the walls of her office, teeth bared, eyes aflame. Keith actually recoiled at the sheer volume of her voice, taking a step back.

“I-”

“Don't you understand, you stupid, stubborn, overgrown _child_ , that we _need_ that goddamned Jaeger?!” she screamed. Keith fell back against the bookshelves, looking considerably younger, more like the boy he was when she'd first seen him, fear in his eyes.

“If we don't have that Jaeger, we're all going to _die!”_ she continued, tearing her hands through her hair. “Why can't you get that through your thick skull!? Why can't you __do as you're told and act like the goddamn saviour you're supposed to be?!”

Keith's chin jutted out defiantly. “My co-pilot is Shiro!” he yelled back, tears at the corners of his eyes.

“YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO MISSES HIM!”

Allura fell against the desk, and she could feel them, the tears, pouring down her face. She'd thought she'd run out months ago, too empty to cry anymore, but it seemed she was full again. Her shoulders shook, and she let out a broken sob.

Keith reared back like he'd been slapped, eyes wide, almost terrified. Of course, he'd never seen her like this.

“You're not the only one who misses him,” she repeated, her tone overflowing with bitterness, throat already sore from shouting. “I lost the man I love, you _idiot.”_

Her left hand felt like it would break from the weight, sometimes, but she couldn't bear to remove it. Opals and white gold, _“to match your eyes,”_ he'd said. She stared at it, at how it seemed glued, mockingly, to her finger. She remembered him giving it to her, vividly, the way he'd knelt and blushed so fetchingly and how he'd spun her around after she'd said yes and the ring was on her finger.

“Allura, I... I'm sorry.”

“Do you think he would have wanted us to give up?” she asked. He blinked.

“I -”

“Do you _honestly_ think that was what he wanted? That he wanted us to just roll over and surrender to those abominations crawling through onto our planet?”

Keith dropped his gaze, clenching his fists at his sides. He knew the answer, they both knew the answer, but he'd be damned if was going to say it out loud. She'd never get it out of him.

“Get out,” she said, monotone, weariness sinking deep into her bones. Her back was screaming.

He went, to her relief, and she shakily rounded her desk to sink into her chair. The tears were still dripping, the void inside full of rage and frustration and complete and utter despair. Her eyes went, as they always did, to the photograph, near the fat yellow mouse he'd given to her with a twinkle in his eye.

Shiro was so handsome, in that photograph, the moment of snatched happiness too many years ago. She'd been younger then, less careworn, less bitter, with a warrior's fire in her. She was laughing, he was laughing, holding up his camera to take a perfect photo. His eyes were twinkling, like they always did when he made her laugh, his black hair falling in his eyes, their hands linked on her shoulder. She remembered how the sun had turned to rain, how they'd gotten back to the car, fallen in, still laughing, made love like silly teenagers in the steamed-up backseat.

She reached over and picked the photograph up. It felt like it weighed a tonne, twenty tonnes. She cradled it to her chest, curled up her chair, and wept.

* * *

When Lance woke up, his head felt like lead, but at least it didn't feel like it was exploding. He wasn't alone in the dark infirmary, he noticed: Hunk was in a chair by his bedside, head lolled forward onto his chest, snoring gently. On the other side was Pidge, and their odour of ammonia stung Lance's nose. They were awake, though, their laptop screen bathing them in a ghostly light.

“You're awake,” they said, closing the screen and placing the laptop to the side. Lance nodded weakly.

“Is everything ok?” he rasped. Pidge stood and poured water into a cup with a lid and a straw, sighing.

“Sort of?” they replied, unsure. “I mean, you're awake and you seem ok, so that's good. According to the tests, there's been no long-lasting neurological damage, so you can attempt another Drift. However... apparently no one's seen Allura all day, and Keith's disappeared too. I think he's sulking.”

They helped to prop Lance up and he gratefully drank the water. It felt like heaven as he swallowed, cool and clear and delicious on his parched throat.

“That's... helpful,” he said. “How long have you guys been here?”

“You've been out fifteen hours,” Pidge said. “Hunk brought you here, then went back to do damage control. We met in the corridor and we got back here at midday.”

Lance stared. “You've been here that long?”

Pidge shrugged. “Friends do that, right?”

“I... how can I be your friend?” he asked. Pidge frowned, as if they didn't understand the question.

“I mean, I only met you both yesterday, I don't even know you, you don't owe me anything, I -” He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth, fighting back the urge to cry.

Pidge sat forward, patted his hand awkwardly. “I'm not good at reassuring people,” they said. “Hunk's better at it, but... if Hunk warmed up to you so quickly, it means you're worth becoming friends with. He's usually really distrustful.”

Lance looked over to him. Hunk was still sleeping peacefully, large, round belly rising and falling with every breath.

“I never really had any friends, so... I latch on kind of pathetically,” Pidge admitted, grinning sheepishly.

Lance managed a tired half-smile, sniffing. “Thanks. Both of you.”

* * *

He'd found the place years ago, when he'd first arrived at the Castle of Lions. When he'd wanted to be alone, it was where he would go, staring at the ocean in all kinds of weather, his secret contemplation place, high above the ground. Not even Shiro had ever been able to find him here.

That was where Keith was now, still staring out at the thing that had claimed Shiro, and he was just as lost as that time years ago.

“What am I supposed to do?” he murmured.

Before, Allura's pushing had just seemed insensitive. How could she not be hurting? How could she brush it off so easily, when Keith was still screaming inside, Shiro's ghosts wandering his mind when he slept? Now, though... now it was different. He'd never seen Allura break like that, he'd never seen such open, raw fury and sadness. And now he just felt ashamed he hadn't been able to bottle it up as well as she had.

They were both as unhealthy as each other.

He hated Lance. He really did. He could never replace Shiro, he was cocky and ridiculous and inexperienced, and even though Keith couldn't stand to look at him, he couldn't stop thinking about him either. He remembered, with painful clarity, the movements of Lance's body, the whipcord sinew of his long limbs, his style so different and fresh and intriguing, more like dance than combat. He remembered how it felt like betrayal, like he was ending his mourning too soon.

He focused on the fool moon, the way its light spilt onto the waves below, making them quicksilver.

What he'd done was... unforgivable. He'd chased the rabbit on purpose, trying to chase Lance away. And now there was some part of him, some rational part that was begging for him to at least put a band-aid on his wounds, felt guilty. He allowed the moonlight to part the fog of his loss, and thought about what Shiro would have done.

Shiro would have moved on. He had, once.

Keith took a deep breath. He brought his legs up from where they dangled over the edge and slid back in the skylight, dropping onto the walkway. Below, silent and scolding, stood Gridelin Leo. He look away from her accusation.

He knocked on the metal, wincing at the echo. “Come in.” She sounded tired, and Keith felt guilty all over again.

She looked at him when he stepped inside, rubbing the back of his neck. Her eyes almost saw right through him.

“Yes?” she asked, exhausted.

“I... I want to try again,” he said. “I have to try again.”

She smiled at him, relieved, and Keith could see the woman he'd seen in the Drift, bright and beautiful who filled Shiro with so much joy.

“0800 hours tomorrow morning,” she said. “Don't be late. Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, saluting.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, uni is kicking my ass. Have a Kaiju fight, Pidge doing dumb shit and a revelation!

After being out for fifteen hours, Lance was surprised he'd still felt tired, but he'd easily drifted off again to the soft tapping of Pidge's fingers on their keyboard. Hunk was the one to wake him, at 0730 hours, smiling.

“Wakey wakey, protein shakey!” he said. Lance scrunched his face up.

“Is that supposed to be breakfast?” he asked. The transparent plastic bottle held something vaguely beige. There were _bits_ in it. It looked about as appetising as roadkill.

“It's breakfast and two missed meals,” Hunk informed him, handing over the cup. Lance sat up, pulling the lid off and making a face. “You need your strength up.”

“For what?”

“We're attempting another Drift with you.”

Lance nearly dropped his cup. He stared at Hunk, gaping, and his hands might have been trembling a little. “A-after yesterday's disaster?”

“Hey, dude, that wasn't your fault, you know,” Hunk murmured, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. “That was all Keith. He chased the rabbit on purpose, to scare you off.” He sighed. “He... He was always volatile, but since we lost Shiro...” He trailed off, shrugging.

Lance stared down into the depths of the protein shake, swallowing. It might not have been his fault, that was what his rational side said, but damn, he still felt as if it was. Wasn't everything his fault, after all?

“Shouldn't you be getting stuff ready?” he mumbled.

“I offered to come get you,” he said. “We'll head over there together.”

Lance clamped down on his lips to stop them from shaking.

* * *

The conn-pod was waiting, open, gaping like a cavernous mouth. Lance's footsteps echoed on the metal walkway, his fingers gripping his helmet almost painfully.

Keith was already in the pod, standing by his harness. He didn't look at Lance when he stepped inside, except it was different – there was no barely contained anger and utter loathing seeping from him. Instead, it felt more like a neutral atmosphere, and Keith seemed almost... guilty.

“Gonna chase the rabbit again?” Lance asked snidely before he could stop himself. He bit his tongue. _Idiot_.

Keith's eye twitched, he took a deep, audible breath through his nose. “No,” he replied stiffly.

“Then let's do this,” Lance said. He pulled on his helmet, nose stinging from the relay gel, and stepped into his harness, his feet finding the connection to Gridelin Leo's.

He barely listened to Hunk's countdown as it happened, eyes fixed straight ahead, jaw set. This was _not_ going to be a repeat of last time.

This time, the Drift didn't feel so much like a bellyflop, more like a swan dive.

* * *

_He's young, so young, reaching up his pudgy hands to a strong-jawed face with sideburns that's more of a blur than anything else –_

_He's kissing a boy for the first time, behind the surf shack, chests pressed together, every sensation different to a girl –_

_Allura, arm tucked into Shiro's, shows him the ring, she can't stop beaming, and he's never seen Shiro happier –_

_His limbs are skinny, and all he can do is panic, the Kaiju warning siren blaring from every corner_  
_All there is is panic, people screaming, thundering past him, a stampede_  
_Walk her back from dance class, Mami had said, and he had, her hand is in his, tiny_  
_Keep up, Gin! Don't let go!_  
_He's panting, heart pounding, face tracked with tears, they need to get to a shelter_  
_There's the buzz of helicopters like a billion hornets, the deafening roar, he looks behind him_  
_It's sickening, grey, long like the dragon carving outside the Chinese restaurant, it rises above the buildings, towers over them_  
_Overhead, a passing shadow, hanging from ropes, a Jaeger –_

Keith's eyes snapped open, and he whirled around to yell at Lance, to tell him to stop, to get Hunk and Allura to pull the plug again... But Lance wasn't trapped. His eyes were closed, he looked focused, a small, determined crease between his eyebrows. Keith swallowed. He was doing this on purpose. He was _showing_ this to Keith.

Keith retreated back into the Headspace.

_Gin screams, he screams too, speeds up_  
_The ground shakes, there's a boom, the Jaeger collapses into the building above them_  
_Gin's hand, sweaty from fear, slips from his_  
_He keeps running_  
_He doesn't stop running_  
_He runs to Papi's shop, bursts in, screams, crawls under the counter_  
_The world stops spinning eventually, but he can't stop crying_  
_They find Gin, broken, when they send the dogs out to look for survivors_  
_His mother doesn't look at him anymore –_

* * *

Keith emerged from the Drift like a man rising from the depths, gulping down air. Beside him, Lance was panting, breath fogging up his helmet, there but also not there. They exchanged a look, and Keith couldn't read Lance's expression, couldn't understand him at all.

“Why?” he asked. Lance looked away again, unharnessing himself and removing his helmet.

“You're not the only one who's lost someone to them, you know,” he said. And then he was gone.

Keith stood, still, unable to even process anything. Around him the HUD depowered, leaving the conn-pod in darkness, and still he didn't move.

“I believe,” said a voice, “that you should actually talk to him.”

Keith jerked his head up. Allura stood in the entrance to the conn-pod, arms folded, the light from outside haloing her like an angel. He swallowed.

“Do you... really think so?”

She sighed. “Yes, I do. I don't know what happened in here, or what you saw in the Drift, but you need to do this.”

Keith tugged off his helmet, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “What if he doesn't want to talk?”

“I have a feeling he will,” Allura answered.

* * *

Lance wasn't entirely sure why he'd done that. It had seemed like a smart idea at the time, but now it just felt stupid, attention-seeking, like some sort of sob story to be shared only when he wanted pity. He was using Gin's loss like it was a bargaining chip, and he felt decidedly sick. And while the second Drift hadn't ended in disaster like the first, it was still very different to what he wanted.

Maybe he wasn't cut out for this. Maybe it was time to pack his bags and leave.

He pushed open the door to his room and looked around. It was pretty stark, but he'd already sort of begun to feel at home, more than he'd ever felt at the Garrison. He'd even made _friends_. He wondered if he'd see them after this. He doubted it.

He heard the door creak and he turned, frowning. His annoyance turned to utter shock when he saw Keith standing there.

“Hey,” Keith said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can... can I come in?”

Lance could only gape. Keith scowled.

“Are you going to answer?” he demanded. Lance started.

“Uh, I mean... s-sure!” he said, gesturing to the desk chair. Keith sat, ankle propped on his knee, arms folded. Lance sat opposite him, awkwardly, on the bed, hands twisting together, dangling between his knees.

“So, do what do I owe the pleasure?” Lance asked, unable to keep a hint of sarcasm from his voice. If Keith had noticed it, he didn't show it: he simply sighed.

“Allura said I should talk to you,” he mumbled.

“You take all your social cues from her?”

Keith's scowl worsened. “If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't be,” he snapped. Lance raised his hands defensively.

“Ok, _fine_. Let's try and be civil. I won't be snarky, you won't be belligerent.”

“Fair enough.”

They lapsed into a silence that skipped awkward entirely and went straight to painful. Lance watched Keith from beneath his lashes, watching the way he sat, the way he surreptitiously looked around the room, the way he drummed his fingers on his arm and bobbed his foot. He always looked impatient, like he was desperate to get away from something (and how much of that was due to Lance himself wasn't, to Lance at least, a known quantity), and defensive, like the world would lash out at him as soon as he dared to relax. But he was also fine-boned, with good cheekbones and long black eyelashes, his eyes such a strange shade of blue-grey to be practically purple.

He'd be handsome if he wasn't so angry.

“So... what do you want to talk about?” said Lance. Keith looked at him, his face twitching nervously.

“The... LA attack?”

Lance drew in a sharp breath. Of course Keith would want to know about that. Lance had shown it to him, like an _idiot_ (even though he knew perfectly well that there were no secrets in the Drift) and now there were inevitable questions. He ran a hand through his hair, biting his lips.

“It happened. My sister died. I showed it to you to prove a point.” His tone was curt, clipped, barely civil.

“I... was in the Sendai attack,” Keith said. Lance looked at him.

“Naginata?”

Keith nodded. “I didn't have a family at all. I was just some half-Korean mongrel nobody wanted, living on the streets, and then this _thing_ comes along and just wipes everything away...”

It was part of Garrison training, watching old footage of Kaiju-Jaeger combat. Lance remembered the Sendai lesson vividly. He remembered how Naginata, shark-like and abhorrent, had clung to the buildings, flattening them. He remembered how it had torn apart the Mark III Jaeger like it was made of paper. And he also remembered how the old Mark I, Voltage Ronin, ancient but still mighty, had stepped in, and ripped its legs from their sockets.

There had been little left of Sendai beyond rubble, dust and the spreading Kaiju blue.

“How did you get out?” he asked, voice low.

“I just lived. I don't know _how_ , I just managed to stay alive. And then Voltage Ronin stopped, surrounded by what was left of the city, and Shiro emerged from the conn-pod... I was fourteen.”

“He took you in?”

Keith nodded. “He became my family. I'd never had one before, it was weird.” He looked up, straight into Lance's eyes. Sendai, Lance realised, was nothing but a faded scar; Shiro's loss was still a bloody, gaping wound.

He cleared his throat. “My mother never forgave me for what happened to Gin. I didn't... I didn't even realise I'd let go of her until I was in my dad's shop, I didn't know... she didn't believe me. She thought I'd abandoned her to save my own skin.”

His hands, he noticed, were trembling. He'd never told anyone about this, about how it had hurt, to be looked at like someone capable of abandoning his own sister. He'd learnt the word “sororicide” very early on.

“My father didn't care either way. Gin was his little princess, his youngest daughter, and he couldn't be bothered to fight for me. My mother still doesn't speak to me. I barely speak to my father. My brothers and sister are the only ones that care.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking slightly. He heard drips on his sleeves and touched his face: he was crying. He stared at the wetness on his fingertips and chuckled weakly, mirthlessly, his voice cracking.

“A child doesn't deserve that,” Keith said with surprising ferocity. He reached forward, his fingers brushing Lance's knee. “I'm sorry.”

Lance shrugged. “It happened. What can you be sorry for?” He rubbed at his eyes furiously. “It's the past. I can't change it.”

“So that's why you wanted to be a Jaeger pilot?”

Lance sighed wistfully, eyes still wet. “Yeah.”

“I kind of just did it because Shiro asked me to,” Keith said. His fingers left Lance's knee, and there were three spots of sudden cold Lance could feel through his uniform. “I just wanted revenge, I guess.”

“And you want revenge now?” Lance asked. Keith's face twisted, his fists balled on his knees.

“It got away,” he said, through gritted teeth. “Sendak got away. I'm not stopping until the Breach is closed.”

“I know I'm not Shiro,” Lance muttered, “but... I want that too, you know. I'm not trying to replace him. I could... never be like Shiro.”

“He'd be ashamed of how I acted,” Keith said guiltily. “He would want me to work with you.”

“We can still -”

Lance was cut off by the blaring scream of the Kaiju alarm. The holoscreen in Lance's room burst into life, stating the Kaiju's codename and category.

The two of them were on their feet and out the door before they'd even heard them.

* * *

Lance could hardly breathe. This was it, the real deal: out there was something that was ready to destroy them all without the slightest bit of consideration, a hulking monster that could take down cities and even civilisation if it was left to itself.

“We can do this, ok?”

Lance looked up, over to where Keith was standing next to him. Keith looked determined, ready for anything, exactly the opposite of how Lance felt.

“Yeah,” Lance said, nodding. “We can.”

“Where are we headed?” Keith asked.

 _“Not far at all,”_ Hunk said. _“Codename Tiamat, category IV is heading towards San Francisco. Nice of them to bring the fight to us.”_

Lance felt the blood drain from his face. _San Francisco_. Close enough to home to be too close for comfort.

 _“Now is_ not _the time for jokes, Mr Garrett,”_ said Marshal Fala.

_“Right you are, ma'am. Deploying Beezer Corsaire, Gridelin Leo stand by, initiating neural handshake.”_

It was a familiar sensation, by now, the connection with Keith. Memories flew by rapidly, barely looked at, and suddenly, there was something different, something primal and bursting with energy. Lance opened his eyes, and he was seeing out of Gridelin Leo's, the world suddenly so much _vaster_.

_Pilot-Jaeger connection complete._

“Wow,” he breathed. They'd never gotten this far before. To his surprise, he heard Keith chuckle, and it was an alien sound, but one Lance wanted to hear again and again.

“Yeah, seeing through her eyes is something special.”

The base Gridelin Leo stood on began to move, and they headed out towards the immense bay doors that lead out into the ocean. Beezer Corsaire already stood outside, cables as thick as tree-trunks being lashed around it to carry it to destination.

 _“Keep it at bay,”_ Marshal Fala said. _“Don't let it get to the coast.”_

 _“We'll try not to, ma'am,”_ drawled a lazy male voice Lance didn't recognise. Beezer Corsaire rose from the water, surrounded by the thudding of helicopters.

“Arms up!” Keith said, and Lance did as he was told, moving in perfect sync with Keith. He could feel the weight of metal in his bones, and it was breathtaking hearing the whirrings and grinding as Gridelin Leo raised her arms for the cables.

It was grey and overcast, thunder visible out over the ocean in the stormy darkness. Behind them, the California coastline, holding its breath. Lance hated the waiting, knowing something was lurking in the deep, having to be ready for the invisible. Something sliced the water in the distance, breaking it like an orca's dorsal fin, and Lance bit the inside of his cheek to steady himself.

 _“We'll go first!”_ said a woman's voice, and it clicked in Lance's head, as Beezer Corsaire moved forward, that the voices had to belong to Rolo Wilson and Nyma Chandra, Beezer Corsaire's pilots.

Beezer Corsaire was slower than Gridelin Leo, nuclear-powered and stocky, but this wasn't Rolo and Nyma's first rodeo.

With a roar that seemed to shake him to his bone marrow, the water erupted. Claws surged up, thick and sharp, taller than a person, but Beezer Corsaire easily dodged – it hadn't seen through ten Kaiju fights for nothing.

Beezer Corsaire raised its arm, revealing huge, metallic claws on its knuckles, white hot with energy for cauterising wounds. It rammed its knuckles into the side of Tiamat's head as it surged from the ocean, water hissing into steam. The beast screamed, opening its jaws, its teeth rending the armour, but making no lasting damage. Beezer Corsaire's other arm came up, catching Tiamat's top jaw and forcing it back.

Lance thought he saw something out of the corner of Gridelin Leo's eye. At first, he thought he was mistaken.

 _“Second Kaiju!”_ Hunk yelled. _“On your right, Leo!”_

Lance and Keith moved together. Gridelin Leo sent up a huge wave as she turned, and there it was, beneath the surface, the silhouette of a hulking behemoth, headed straight for the city.

 _“We've got this!”_ Rolo grunted. _“Get that one!”_

Gridelin Leo didn't hesitate. She ran, the Golden Gate Bridge ahead, and that was when the Kaiju burst from the sea, straight for the bridge. Its bulk ripped the tarmac and metal apart as if it were made of butter, dropping vehicles and debris into the sea like crumbs.

“Plasma gun!” Keith barked, and Lance raised his left arm, aiming it squarely at the Kaiju's back. It seemed to take an eternity to charge, but once it did, an incandescent beam drove itself into the Kaiju's skin, searing it. The Kaiju screamed, making both Keith and Lance wince, and whirled around, six tiny eyes blinking at them, almost in disbelief.

It had four arms. It grabbed Gridelin Leo with all of them, jaws snapping at the conn-pod. Gridelin Leo raised her hand, punched right into the side of the monster's head, the collision rippling through the machine and into the conn-pod, making Lance feel like jelly. With her other hand, Gridelin Leo reached for the Kaiju's neck and shoved it away, into the remaining support of the bridge, taking it down.

Before the Kaiju had time to regain its footing, Gridelin Leo was charging, Lance and Keith moving as one, and slamming her shoulder into its chest. The Kaiju didn't fall, it merely skidded back until it dug its hindlimbs into the bottom of the bay and stopped its momentum. Gridelin Leo tried to pull back, but the Kaiju was faster, grabbing her arm with two of its own. With the other two, it went for the conn-pod again, Gridelin Leo only just managing to block it. Its claws left deep, screaming welts in the metal, in Gridelin Leo's arm and side.

“Sword!” Lance yelled. In his mind, he registered Keith's surprise, but there was no hesitation in his movements as they ripped Gridelin Leo's left arm back and revealed the Jaeger's chainsword. It slid perfectly into a blade, and Gridelin Leo dug it into the Kaiju's side. Electric blue blood spilt into the sea as the creature bellowed in agony, 

Its pain was enough to make it take a step back, but it couldn't flee further: behind it was Alcatraz Island. Gridelin Leo pressed her advantage: with a yell from bother her pilots, she lunged, driving her chainsword into the Kaiju's chest and tearing upwards. The Kaiju split in two, splattering into the sea and on the rocks of the island. It slumped, half on the land, half in the water.

“Double tap it,” Keith said mercilessly, and Lance couldn't help but grin. The chainsword slid back into place, and the hum of the plasma cannon whirred back into life.

There was a scream through the intercom, a woman's, a scream of sheer and utter terror.

“Nyma!” Lance said, letting the cannon die.

 _“We've lost Beezer Corsaire!”_ cried Hunk. _“Get to the city!”_

In unison, Lance and Keith ran.

Beezer Corsaire couldn't be seen, but Tiamat could. Its beady, soulless eyes were fixed on Gridelin Leo now. Rain ran down its lumpen features, dripping from it, as it stood on Ocean Beach, staring Gridelin Leo and her pilots down. It felt, to Lance, like a scene from a Western, with an Ennio Morricone soundtrack in the background. Time had lengthened, a minute lasting hours.

They both sprang at each other together, Gridelin Leo and Tiamat. They crashed against each other, matched for strength, the gears grinding madly in Gridelin Leo's arms as they held Tiamat's hulking self at bay. Sand shifted beneath Gridelin Leo's feet, the waves surged around Tiamat's, but neither budged.

“Cannon would be good right now,” Keith said through gritted teeth.

“Working on it,” Lance replied, and there it was for the third time, the song of charging plasma.

Tiamat seemed to notice. It reared back, dodging, and from practically nowhere a whip-like, spiked tail lashed the side of the conn-pod, ripping gashes in the metal.

“Fuck!”

Lance swallowed. The plasma cannon fizzled out. So close, it had been so close to him, echoing through the conn-pod, _so close_ –

* * *

Pidge bit their lip. Sam had gone, rushed towards to command centre to overlook the fight, like he always did. He hadn't even bothered with leaving them behind.

Now was their chance.

They knew exactly where all of Matt's equipment had been put – it was just a case of jimmying the lock. It was all still there, slightly dusty, but from a quick look, it was all in working order. Pidge dragged the trolley out of the cupboard and heaved it toward their side of the laboratory. It was heavy.

Pidge pressed their hand to the tank that held the Kaiju frontal lobe. It pulsated, still clinging to life after being torn from its body, a cut ganglion pressing against the glass, as if desperate for contact. It was incredible, miraculous... beyond anything they'd ever seen.

“Just a sec,” they muttered. Skidding on a slice of cauterised Kaiju meat, they grabbed the main power cable and hurried to the wall. How much time did they have? Kaiju fights averaged two hours, right? Power surged into the Pons system, and Pidge began attaching the cables to the brain's jar, working frantically. Their fingers felt like sausages, too thick for fine work, and they kept fumbling.

“Shit!” They sucked their thumb into their mouth, tasting hot metal. “Could've made this thing safer, dumbass.”

Matt couldn't hear them. Matt would never hear them again, but it made them feel better to keep talking to him.

Finally it was set up. Pidge took a deep breath, grabbed the headset and forced in on, over their hair, flattening it. Their hand hovered over the switch.

“Show me what you know,” they said, staring at the brain. They turned the machine on.

_Blue – Dad – Matt – graduation – DNA – creatures – light – death – Jaegers – ocean – dinosaurs – suffocation – pollution conquest experimentation humans lightBreacharrivaldestruction –_

Pidge's head was exploding. They shook, eyes rolled back in their head, thumping against the floor.

“Don't do this to me, Pidge!”

Was that Dad? It sounded like Dad. Everything was too bright, too painful, too much for their weak human synapses to deal with.

“Dad?” they groaned.

“Oh, thank God! Thank God!”

Pidge winced. His arms felt too tight, their nose was scrunched against his chest. They could feel something warm on their upper lip, dripping from their nose... blood? They had no idea.

“Dad, you're hurting me...”

Sam pulled back, cupping their face, wiping away the blood, though it only continued to drip. Pidge had never seen him look so terrified. Well, they had, but that had been when... They blinked dazily, and everything came surging back. They grabbed Sam's forearms, eyes suddenly wide and showing off their newly-torn iris.

“I need to talk to Allura!” they said. “I need to talk to Allura now!”

* * *

“Keep it together!”

Keith's voice sliced through his thoughts. Lance drew in a shuddering breath, grit his teeth.

He lashed out, Keith following him without a second thought, and grabbed Tiamat's tail. Gridelin Leo planted a foot at its base, her other hand at the Kaiju's throat, and with all his strength (and Keith's), Lance pulled.

Sinews ripped, flesh tore, Tiamat screeched. The tail tore off, gushing electric blue everywhere, and Gridelin Leo flung the tail away. Tiamat roared again, and Gridelin Leo grabbed its upper and lower jaws, heedless of the teeth figging into her palms.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his hands, Lance thought, in an oddly detached way, how easily he and Keith worked together: it was seamless, dancelike, like they each was a mirror image of the other. It was incredible.

Letting out a harsh yell, Lance put all his might into pushing the beast's jaws apart, as far as they could go. There was a snap, and the jaws were suddenly looser. Gridelin Leo let go, and Tiamat's bottom jaw hung, limp, tilted to the side, almost comical.

It only seemed to enrage it.

It lunged, knowing it now had to rely on its claws, and went straight for the conn-pod again. Gridelin Leo retreated, the claws scraping down her chest, tearing through the lion, and she drew the chainsword again. With one hand on the blade to force it down, Gridelin Leo thrust the edge between the Kaiju's jaws, to the back of its throat.

“Keep pushing!” Keith yelled, and Lance forced everything he had behind it.

The blade tore through Tiamat's face, its severed head falling into the sea. Gridelin Leo took a step back, and the Kaiju's body crumpled, twitching, to the ground.

“This time we definitely double-tap,” Lance said vehemently. He raised his arm, charged the plasma cannon, and shot. Twice. Kaiju blue surrounded the creature's mutilated upper half in a repulsive, fluroescent halo.

Lance finally allowed himself to breathe. Beside him, Keith did the same, slumping in his harness with a long sigh.

“Never taken two at once before,” he said, almost absently. Lance burst out laughing. “What? _What_?!”

“Two at once!” Lance crowed. There was laughter, Hunk's, through the intercom. Keith groaned.

“You're impossible!” But he sounded pretty fond, and when they caught each other's gaze, he was smiling.

* * *

Allura stared deep into Pidge's eyes. They looked, she was pleased to see, decidedly sheepishly, guiltily sipping a glass of water, a tissue stuck up their left nostril, eyes bloodshot. They were still shaking.

“What did you see?” Allura demanded. Pidge swallowed.

“I... I Drifted with it. They have... they have a hivemind. They're all connected. They're not... they're not just mindless creatures. They're not just animals. They're being sent! They're being sent by these... these aliens, colonists, they want to take over the planet. They do that, they go from world to world, draining everything of its resources, and the Kaiju are their eviction crew. That's what they're being sent for: to get rid of us.”

“I suspected so,” Allura said, sitting back and crossing her legs. She'd known, deep down in her gut, that there was a method to this madness – she'd just had no idea exactly what. Pidge had just confirmed her suspicions, ones she'd never even voiced to Shiro.

“So all Kaiju have the same DNA because they're all clones,” Pidge continued. “A-and then these aliens send them through the Breach. And well... There's more coming. Something worse. Something bigger.”

Allura's insides turned to ice. She gripped the arm of her chair, her knuckles turning white. Of course. Of course something worse would be coming.

“Like my calculations,” Sam murmured, rubbing his face, glasses thrown on his desk.

“Pidge,” Allura said. “Can you Drift with it again?”

Pidge started, eyes widening. “I-I-I can't!” they stammered. “I... the brain's dead.”

Allura could see in the way they ducked their head, and the way they gripped their glass as hard as Allura had gripped the chair, that they never wanted to Drift with a Kaiju again. They needed the information, desperately: they were fighting a losing battle, the odds stacking up ever-more-terrifyingly against them. Besides... where would they get a new brain from? There was no time.

Allura slumped back in her chair, sighing. “Tiamat and Typhon's secondary brains might be salvageable,” she muttered. “I need to see if I can get them. If I do... could you Drift again?”

Sam shoved his glasses back on. “Now see here, Allura -”

“No!” she snapped. “You see here! We're fighting a war in which we will most certainly all be wiped out unless we get that information! And I am going to get it, Samuel, with or without your permission. If they can get a degree, they can Drift twice with a Kaiju!”

Sam gaped as if he'd been slapped. Pidge looked up, terrified at Allura's raised voice.

“I...” They gulped down their water. “I'll do it. But I don't think I can do it alone.” They turned, looked at their father. Sam looked right back. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

“Fine,” he muttered. Allura nodded, once, and stood.

“If that is decided...”

The door to the laboratory opened violently, and there was Shay, short of breath, like she'd run all the way there.

“Marshal!” she panted. “You absolutely need to get onto the phone!”

Allura breathed in deeply. “If it's the United Nations -”

“It is not!” Shay cut her off, uncharacteristic enough to make Allura's mouth snap closed. “It's... Shiro. He is alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!
> 
> This fic is actually finished now, so expect the last chapter and the epilogue very soon.
> 
> Also, there _is_ a scene that bumps the rating up to Mature in this chapter. It's not explicit in the slightest, but if you don't want to read it, just skip from 'He seemed to read her mind' to '"I never thought I'd have you again"'.

**_June 2024_ **

It was agony. Shiro had never felt anything like it. It was the kind of pain people died of, their systems shutting down, unable to deal with the sensory overload. But he was alive and horrifyingly _awake_ , and every nerve in his body was screaming.

And then he was actually screaming. He'd seen so many Kaiju, as close as could happen from a Jaeger, but there it was, sharp teeth at the huge tear in Gridelin Leo's side, eyes fixed on him. The teeth opened, snapped around his arm. He planted his feet, praying the command platform and harness would keep him in place, but he couldn't fight it. It was so _strong_. A thin, tongue-like tendril snaked around his forearm, dragging him forward.

He could hear Keith yelling, maybe his name, maybe something else, but the roar of the wind and the waves and the screech of tearing metal covered it. The connectors snapped from their places in his drivesuit, lashing like unruly whips as he was wrenched from his harness.

The wind and seaspray whipped his face. The ocean itself was far away, when he looked down, hanging by his limp arm from the Kaiju's jaws. It have off a stench of fish and ammonia, enough to make him throw up violently.

The whir of the plasma cannon overpowered every other noise. How Keith was managing to do that alone, he had no idea. The force of the blast knocked the creature backwards, Shiro bouncing impotently, his shoulder popping. He almost fainted from the pain, but some sick part of his body kept him awake.

The sea came rushing towards them, knocking the air from Shiro's lungs, stinging his eyes through the shattered perspex of his helmet, making everything a blur. The Kaiju was diving.

Shiro panicked. He tried tugging uselessly at his arm, trapped between the beasts immense teeth. His lungs were begging for air. Next to him, looking right at him, was an eye the size of his head. He scrambled for the knife he kept in his drivesuit, pulled it out, stabbed, and tore down. His head was pounding.

The Kaiju opened its mouth in a roar made a thousand times worse by the water. Electric blue blood illuminated its pockmarked grey face. Shiro planted his feet on the creatures gums and tugged with all his might. His arm slipped free, he kicked, hoping he was facing the surface. He needed to breathe.

He slapped at his drivesuit, found the flotation device tug, pulled desperately. He surged upwards, reality becoming a pinprick, so close to fainting.

He breached the surface, took in half-air, half-seawater, spluttered. He was lying on his back, facing the sky. He wasn't sure if he was crying or not, but he was definitely trembling, violently.

The sky was alive with stars, like a Jackson Pollock of diamonds. Reaching with a shaking hand, he hoisted his unresponsive right arm from the water, flopping it over his chest. _Sharks_ , his mind supplied distantly.

His teeth were chattering. He felt cold to the bone, like he was made of ice, and everything was an alternating rhythm of numbness and excruciating pain, like his body didn't know what to do with itself. He could barely think.

“S-s-sorry, Allura...” he slurred, the stars reminding him of her hair, before his eyes slipped closed.

* * *

Death would have been simple. Death would have been a relief. Death decided that it wasn't quite time yet. He woke up in the morning, the sun blisteringly hot on his face, his throat dry. He licked his lips, tasted nothing but salt. He opened his eyes, shut them again against the sun directly above.

Water lapped against his side. That was the only noise. There were no birds above, and whatever was down below was a mystery. He shivered. Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

The day was long, and hot, and left him gasping. _Water, water, every where, nor any drop to drink._ It reminded him why he'd always looked to the stars, and never to the sea.

He slipped in and out of consciousness, through either pain or thirst. Colours burst behind his eyelids, tied with psychedelic memories, a parade of delirium. Allura pulsated in tie-dye, Keith shone in an epileptic rainbow, slimy things crawled from the recesses of his mind, their movements coordinated to the slap of water. He rocked, but it was no comfort.

Night falling was a relief, if only for the coolness it brought. It caressed his feverish brow as the sun dipped below the horizon, into the West, and the stars winked into life above where pink silk became purple velvet.

It seemed a slow, lingering death brought out the poet in him. “So what was my albatross?” he wondered out loud from a dry throat through cracked lips. The world said nothing, but licked at his sides, as always.

* * *

When he woke up again, head reeling, eyes blurry, he couldn't remember why he was there. He panicked, of course he panicked, why was he out in the middle of the ocean?

He tried to cry. He was too dehydrated to shed any tears. He tried to find memories, something in his mind to fill the void, but there was nothing there. He remembered his parents, his grandmother, the vague shape of a woman with dark skin and white hair, but that was it. He drifted, sobbing, his cheeks dry.

He was going to die out here, in the middle of the ocean, and he didn't even know why he was there. Had he been abandoned? Had it been a shipwreck? He raised his hand, and it was like lifting a mountain. What was he wearing? Some weird armour.

He closed his eyes again, hoping it was for the last time.

* * *

It wasn't.

He woke up again, and there was light, but it wasn't the sun. He turned his head, slow, shaky, and saw he was in a small room. The window was round, from what he could see. A cabin?

A voice said something, and a face swam into focus, a weathered man's face, deeply tanned. He looked concerned. He said something again, and he frowned, confused.

_“Japanese?”_ he said. He nodded slowly. The man smiled.

_“Excellent,”_ he said. _“I thought you were. Thirsty?”_

Shiro nodded again, and the man helped him to drink. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted.

_“We found you. You have...”_ The man indicated something around his neck, then pointed to Shiro's own neck. He reached up, his movements sluggish, and pulled out a set of dog tags, his name in English and a number. He frowned.

_“I don't know what these are from,”_ he said.

_“They're round_ your _neck,”_ the man said, shrugging.

Shiro pressed a hand to his forehead. His head was swimming, but it couldn't find anything to fill the void. There was a huge, empty abyss, something fundamental, and it made his brain pound, as if it were a wild animal trying to escape a cage.

It turned out he'd been rescued by a small fishing boat. He was weak, painfully weak, and his arm was a mess. He had a new, nasty scar across his nose, though he didn't know from what, and when he looked in the mirror, there was a shock of white hair hanging in front of his eyes.

He knew who he was: Shirogane Takashi, from Higashimatsushima and Fresno, aged... he didn't quite know his age. His dog tags said 4-20-1997. He felt like he was missing some years, though his face told him he'd gained a few.

When they got back to land, they took him to the local hospital. His arm was a lost cause, so they got rid of it. It wasn't a great loss, it had been numb anyway. They fitted a prosthetic, connected to his nerves and remaining muscles, an older model, but it worked.

He kept the tags a secret. He didn't know what they meant, but for some reason, they filled him with dread.

* * *

Mr and Mrs Minekawa were like the kind of old people you found in a fairy tale: they had no children and they'd taken him in, allowed him to help them in exchange for a roof and meals. He dealt with the garden, the shopping, the house cleaning, the laundry, the ironing, and they seemed happy. His life settled into routine, and the gaping pit in his mind could be ignored.

The nightmares couldn't. He would wake up in a cold sweat, screaming in a jumbled mess of English and Japanese. There would be seawater, and roaring, and pain beyond pain, but nothing he could have defined. Mrs Minekawa would find him awake at dawn, sitting on the porch, blanket around his shoulders. He would be staring at the stars, wondering why they were trying to remind him of something.

It was dinner time, and Mr and Mrs Minekawa liked to watch the news over dinner. There was always something on about the Kaiju, about the Wall being built (and for some reason he was sceptical, like he knew it was futile). There was only one Shatterdome open now, and it was in Canada.

A woman stood at a podium. She was wearing a look of determination so fierce it radiated through the screen, her hair in a no-nonsense bun, her uniform tailored and crisply pressed. But Shiro couldn't stop thinking about how she looked when she smiled, bright and pretty and how it made his heart hammer in his chest...

Flashes, one after the other. He dropped his chopsticks and grabbed his head, groaning. There she was, the woman from the television – _Allura_ – smiling, crying, grinning mischievously, in a hospital bed, by his side in armour like they'd found him in, sparring with him – 

“Takashi-kun?” Mr Minekawa said worriedly. Shiro didn't hear him. The flashes were more intense now, there was a young man with black hair and purplish eyes, a Jaeger he was somehow intimately familiar with, another young man with dark skin and black hair, and then – 

It surged back, filling the emptiness in his head like water pouring into a sinkhole. He slumped forward, his head pounding, gripping his temples, his teeth grinding.

He could see it, moonlight, the surge of seawater, and he could taste the smell of fish and ammonia.

He'd gone to bed shivering, feverish, mind bubbling with half-familiar things. He had no idea what to do, but he couldn't sleep: he lay awake, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling, replaying newly rediscovered instances of a past life he hadn't known he had.

He wasn't just Shirogane Takashi. He was Ranger Takashi Shirogane of the Pan-Pacific Defence Corps, Ranger number R-TSHI_117.98-H, former pilot of Voltage Ronin and current pilot of... He faltered, even in his own mind. How could he be the current pilot of Gridelin Leo, when he was an ocean away?

He'd left everyone behind. He'd left them defenceless. What kind of Ranger was he? He didn't even stop to think it wasn't his fault at all. He had to go back. He had to. It didn't matter _how_.

* * *

Keith wouldn't stop smiling at him. It was a good look on him, Lance realised, as something tugged violently around his navel area, something that made his heart drum and his face burn. As soon as they were out of their drivesuits, Keith turned to him, still smiling.

“We make a good team,” he said. Lance grinned back, blinking quickly, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes.

“We do,” he replied. He wondered what to do with his hands, whether to go for a friendly clap on the shoulder, a soft punch in the arm, a fistbump, a handshake... For some reason, his arms begged for a hug. He ignored them.

And now they were being called into Marshal Fala's office. They'd probably get a “well done” out of it, Lance mused. The loss of Beezer Corsaire stung, but he couldn't fight the elation that came with victory against a Kaiju. _Two_ Kaiju, even! No one had ever won so spectacularly before. He thought he deserved the strut he allowed to drift into his step.

When they walked in, Marshal Fala was sitting behind her desk, tapping her fingers on the metal. She looked incredibly grave. She didn't wait until they were settled.

“Shiro's alive,” she said, no preamble, no warning. Lance was certain his heart stopped dead.

_Shiro was alive?_

He clenched a fist at his side, his face a stony mask. Next to him, Keith was babbling, demanding answers, but Lance couldn't hear him. There was a roar in his ears, like the surging sea, and he was certain they were his thoughts. _Shiro was alive._ What use was he now?

He could feel the slow, inevitable crawl of cold darkness slithering up into his chest, ready to curl up and make its dirty home there again.

“When we will he be back?!” Keith asked, leaning over the desk, desperation in every nuance of expression on his face. Lance looked away.

“By mid-afternoon, hopefully.” Allura was smiling now, from ear to ear, and she looked like sunshine, like some darkness had been peeled away to reveal her how she should have been, bright and angelic. “Dismissed.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Lance was the first out of the door, down the corridor. He didn't wait for Keith. What was the point? Shiro was alive, Shiro was coming back, Shiro was Gridelin Leo's pilot. He'd been nothing but a placeholder, a temporary solution, an inferior substitute and now he was redundant again. Never good enough for first choice.

* * *

“You're happy,” Lance said. Looking at Keith's face, how bright and full of joy it was since they'd received the news, made him feel incredibly bitter. He couldn't help it.

“Of course I am!” Keith replied. “Shiro's _alive_! He's actually _alive_!”

Lance buried his displeasure deep within himself, and kept his eyes on his tray.

The buzz of conversation in the canteen suddenly ceased completely. Lance turned towards the doorway, where everyone else's eyes had gone, and gripped his fork, hard enough for his fist to shake.

There, standing in the doorway, was Shiro. He didn't look like Lance remembered him from TV and magazines, but it was still recognisably him, the most famous and successful of PPDC Rangers. It was strange, Lance thought: if this had happened two or three days ago, he wouldn't have minded. He would have been thrilled to meet his hero, the man who had inspired him for years, his object of admiration. But _now_... now seeing Shiro in the flesh just reminded him of his inadequacy.

He jumped as the bench moved, scraping against the floor. Keith took the aisle between the tables with long strides, and Lance dropped his gaze as the two men threw their arms around each other.

He kept his eyes on the ground even as he heard Keith's voice and two sets of footsteps come back to the table. Hunk and Pidge also embraced Shiro.

“And this is Lance,” Keith said. “He was piloting Leo with me.”

_Was_. Of course, past tense. Lance didn't even have a second to drag up fake cheer. He had no idea how he managed it. He raised his head with a broad smile and looked right into the face of the man who'd been his idol for as long as he could remember the Kaiju War.

He was scarred. Some of his hair had gone white. He seemed impressed, but that didn't help things. He held out his hand, and Lance saw it was a prosthetic. Lance took it.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, managing to sound sincere.

“You did an incredible job in San Francisco,” Shiro said. Once upon a time, praise from Shiro would have made him blush, stammer, glow with pride. Now it simply felt like some sort of platitude, a meagre consolation prize. He'd been able to touch the sky, but now they were nailing his feet to the ground.

“I did my best,” he said, lowering his gaze again.

To his relief, Shiro took the seat on the other side of Keith, and suddenly the table was all chatter. Other people gathered, clapping their hands on Shiro's back and shoulders, congratulating him, voicing their surprise at his survival. Lance felt as if he was on the edge of something, on the outside looking in.

Nobody noticed when he stood up, meal barely touched. No one noticed when he left the canteen.

The hallways were mostly empty, only a few people trickling around, some late for dinner, some skipping it all together. Lance trod the now-familiar route to the Jaeger docking bay, and looked inside. She was being fixed up with such a precision and tenderness it was like they were working on restoring a priceless painting. Sparks flews, the sound of drilling and hammering echoed around the bay. Lance swallowed, but the lump in his throat went nowhere.

“It was nice knowing you,” he murmured. He headed to his room and shut the door behind him, back against metal.

He should start packing.

* * *

“You weren't in the canteen.”

She looked up, at the door. It was easy to smooth her face into something neutral, but her hands... her hands wouldn't stop shaking.

She couldn't read his expression. He merely stood there, the door closed behind him, in civilian clothes, a pullover, a loose leather jacket, faded jeans. There were deep changes on his face, scars and lines that hadn't been there six months ago, but it was still him. It was still _him_ , still _Shiro_.

The dam inside her broke.

She rushed around her desk, almost skidding in her desperation to reach him. His arms were open for her, familiar, comforting, and she buried her face in his neck with a broken sob.

“I thought I'd lost you,” she gasped. “I thought I'd lost you.”

She felt her feet leave the ground, her weight buoyed up by his strength, and she dug her fingers into his shoulders, feeling more than hearing the squeak of the leather. He smelt familiar, felt familiar, and even with all his differences, was familiar. Being in his embrace again was something she'd never dreamt she'd have again: it was like coming home.

“I'm here,” he said fiercely into her hair. “I'm back. I'm not leaving again.”

He set her down again, and they pulled apart, gazing at each other, into each other. He cupped her face, staring at her, caressing her cheeks.

“I forgot about you,” he said, voice strained. “How could I forget about you?”

“You remember me now,” she said, running her fingers over his face, his neck, his shoulders. “That's what's important.”

He pulled her into a kiss, deep and desperate, and she didn't resist, falling into it, pressing herself in closer, their bodies flush. She was caught between the comfort and the arousal the familiarity of his body gave her, and she didn't know what to do.

They parted, sharing each other's breath, eyes half-lidded, the air between them warm. Her fingers curled at his nape, his hands slid around her waist, firmly on the small of her back. _Is it too soon?_ she wondered, staring at his eyelashes, the flecks of gold in his honey-brown eyes, the raw pink of his scar, the flush of his lips. They kissed again. He seemed to read her mind.

They stumbled through the door into Allura's bedroom, her legs hit the edge of the bed and she went backwards, kicking off her shoes, tearing off her jacket. His coat joined hers on the floor, and he crawled over her, pressing down between her parted legs as they wound around his waist. His pullover met the floor, her tights were peeled off, revealing themselves all over again.

The weight of him, the warmth of him, his bulk and scent and taste... all were so joyously familiar she felt like crying. His hands on her, hers on him, bare skin against bare skin, and what did it matter that one hand was metal and left delicious goosebumps in its wake? She welcomed him into her with a broken, delighted sob, pressing her lips to every inch she could reach as he returned home with every thrust of his hips. He chanted her name into her skin, reverent, and they came together, and she felt whole again.

“I never thought I'd have you again,” she murmured. She played with his dogtags absently, humming gently as his fingers softly ran the length of the scar along her spine.

“I thought I was going to die,” he said. His lips were pressed to her forehead. “I... I thought about you so much before I forgot.”

She raised her head, brush his hair from his face. “You remember now.”

He kissed her palm, her fingertips, her knuckles, and she pillowed her head back on his chest, falling asleep without chasing ghosts for the first time in months.

* * *

Shiro stared at the helmet. The feeling of the circuitry suit and, above that, the chink of the armoured drivesuit was familiar, but whereas before he wore it like a mantle, now it felt like a straitjacket. He ignored the fact it set his teeth on edge and pulled his helmet on, holding his breath as the relay gel filled and then dispersed.

Keith was there, hovering, a broad grin spread across his features. It was so good to see him again, and he clapped him on the shoulder, smiling himself at the sound of Keith's familiar, boyish laugh.

“It's good to have you back,” Keith said.

“It's good to be back,” Shiro replied.

Gridelin Leo's conn-pod was familiar as well. As he stepped inside, he looked around, taking it in, the cables and gears and harness and every single detail he knew like

_Salt, screaming, agony_

the back of his hand. He shook his head, gritting his teeth. He would not let anything get in the way of this. It was his duty. He had to do this. He'd done this so many times before, what was he afraid of?

_“I take it you're ready?”_

Shiro smiled, his heart rate slowing at the sound of Allura's voice. “As always,” he replied. He stepped into the harness, feeling everything slide into its place. Soon he'd be in Keith's head again, and Keith would in his, and everything would be fine, and he'd be connected with Leo again, proud, beautiful Leo, the marvel of her age.

_“Initiating neural handshake in fifteen seconds,”_ Hunk said tonelessly. Shiro frowned slightly.

“Something up, Hunk?” Keith asked, flicking switches.

_“I... haven't seen Lance today,”_ he muttered. _“He left dinner early last night. Also... I dunno, guys, just a bad feeling, I guess.”_

Shiro looked over at Keith. Keith didn't meet his eyes.

“Lance seems like a decent guy,” Shiro said lightly, waiting for the white and the blue, the surge as minds melded.

“I guess,” Keith muttered, and Shiro smirked to himself. He knew Keith well enough to know exactly what was going on in his head without need for the Pons system.

* * *

_Keith whooping, flipping him the bird, tossing the Wiimote steering wheel in the air -_

_The Kwoon mat meeting his back, an unfamiliar weight and a sharp, white grin above him, dark blue eyes full of challenge -_

_Allura grumbling, burrowing her face into her pillow, hair a mess and t-shirt sliding off one shoulder -_

_The thud of music, loud and cacophonous, the tang of salt, lime and tequila on his tongue -_

_Pain. So much pain. Howling wind and water. Watching Keith watch him be torn from the conn-pod_   
_Sharp teeth. Agony. Black water and grey skin. His lungs screaming. Blood. So much blood, his arm in tatters, his mind following_   
_Endless floating. The sky. Thirst. The sky. Everything he left behind. Thirst_   
_He wants to die let him die oh please God let him die -_

_Pain. So much pain. Howling wind and water. Watching Keith watch him be torn from the conn-pod_   
_Sharp teeth. Agony. Black water and grey skin. His lungs screaming. Blood. So much blood, his arm in tatters, his mind following_   
_Endless floating. The sky. Thirst. The sky. Everything he left behind. Thirst_   
_He wants to die let him die oh please God let him die -_

_Pain. So much pain. Howling wind and water. Watching Keith watch him be torn from the conn-pod_   
_Sharp teeth. Agony. Black water and grey skin. His lungs screaming. Blood. So much blood, his arm in tatters, his mind following_   
_Endless floating. The sky. Thirst. The sky. Everything he left behind. Thirst_   
_He wants to die let him die oh please God let him die -_

* * *

His mind was splintering, shattering into pieces as their connection collapsed like a house of cards. All his body could sense was the agony in his head. Keith screamed, tearing himself from the harness, pulling off his helmet as he collapsed to the floor and retched. It was like a stuck projection, the attack reeling over and over on his inside of his eyelids, spikes stabbing into his mind over and over.

He looked behind him. His eyes widened.

“Shiro!”

Shiro was shaking, violently, head rattling, eyes rolled back in his head, a rivulet of blood running from his lips from a bitten tongue. Keith had no idea what to do.

_“Keith?! Keith, what's happening?!”_

“He's having a seizure, I don't...” Keith's voice was cracking. He wrapped his arms around Shiro's torso, wrenching him from the harness. He was heavy. Keith's knees buckled, they went down together, and Keith laid him out, gazing at him in terror, trying to hold him still.

With a hiss the conn-pod door opened. “Don't hold him!”

Keith let him go, eyes now on Allura. She knelt opposite him, biting her lip, her hand placed gently on Shiro's shuddering chest.

The movements subsided, his twitching became less violent, his breathing shallowed. He started shivering, fingers clenching and unclenching, claw-like. He was gasping, staring, wide-eyed. Allura allowed him to take her hand, wincing slightly as he clutched it in a death grip.

“W-what do we do?” Keith asked. Allura took a deep breath through her nose.

“We get him to the infirmary,” she said, her voice as steady as she could make it.

* * *

They let Shiro sleep. He didn't look serene at all, his brow a knot of anxiety, his face pained. She wished she could soothe him, but she had no idea how.

She'd been so _stupid_ , so blinded by her faith in Shiro's fortitude that she hadn't even stopped to think about how broken his mind would be. Putting him in a Jaeger again so soon, forcing him into a neural handshake... it was beyond cruel. She buried her face in her hand, biting her lip, making it bleed so she wouldn't cry again. She was tired of crying. But oh, how could she live with herself, knowing she'd caused him pain?

“Marshal?”

Allura looked up. Shay stood there, nervously hovering in the doorway. “Yes?”

“I... there's a request for you outside. It's... it's Mr Raible?”

Allura's eyes widened.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Lance jumped, whipping around, a half-folded t-shirt in his hands. Keith was staring at the open duffel bag on the bed, already half-full. Lance swallowed.

He should have packed the night before. He should have been gone the night before. He hadn't had the courage, always a goddamn coward. He wanted to stay, he was _desperate_ to stay, to pilot Gridelin Leo one more time, to feel the connection with Keith one more time... His hands shook as he stuffed the shirt in his bag.

“I... I'm going. Y-you don't need me anymore, right? Shiro's back...”

“Of course we still need you!” Keith snapped. Lance rolled his eyes.

“You don't need to _patronise_ me, you know,” he said. “I'm not stupid, I know I'm redundant now.”

“Shiro can't... Shiro can't pilot a Jaeger anymore.”

Lance stilled. It took a moment for his mind to catch up with his ears, and he hated the all-consuming surge of relief that washed over him. He beat it down, horrified with himself.

“Why?”

Keith sat down in the same chair he'd occupied before the attack on San Francisco, running a hand through his hair. “I think... I think his mind's too broken,” he mumbled. “It can't take the strain.”

It was Lance's turn to sit, on the edge of his bed, eyes trained on the floor. “I... I'm sorry.” And he was. Shiro was a Ranger... what was a Ranger who couldn't pilot? He'd admired Shiro for so long, to know he was in pain still hurt.

“Listen.”

Lance looked at his knee, felt the warmth of Keith's hand. He looked up. Keith's face was serious.

“You're my co-pilot, Lance,” he said. “We... we can do this. Together.”

Lance took a deep breath. He nodded.

Second choice was better than nothing. The world was more important.

* * *

She hadn't seen Coran in years, not since... The memory fell away from Allura's mind, unheeded, as she took in the immense, tarpaulin-covered... __thing in front of her. It was on the back of a gigantic lorry, and beside it, dwarfed by it, was Coran. Once upon a time a second father, now... Still a second father.

“What on Earth is this?” she asked in bewilderment.

“Not even a 'hello'?” Coran said, folding his arms in mock-annoyance. The smell of ammonia, Allura noticed, got stronger and stronger as she stepped closer. It was like the laboratory, but so much worse.

“Hello. What on Earth is this?”

Coran chuckled. “I think your scientists are going to want to see this.”

The thing rattled. Allura jumped back.

It didn't take long for Pidge to appear, halfway between put-out and mortally curious. Sam stood next to them, arms crossed in irritation.

“You're going to love it,” Coran said cheerfully. He clapped his hands, half-a-dozen men stepped forward and tugged off the tarpaulin. “Special delivery from San Francisco!”

Allura made a horrified noise. Sam jumped back with a loud “fuck!”. Pidge's face lit up.

They rushed to the bars, gazing up into four eyes the side of their head. The thing hissed, but it didn't sound threatening. It cocked its head, staring down at Pidge.

“I'm gonna call you Rover!” Pidge said.


	5. Chapter 5

Word of the bizarre new arrival spread like wildfire through the Castle of Lions, and everyone flocked to see it get transported into one of the larger hangars and unloaded off the lorry, still in its cage. Pidge hurried back to its side, reaching a hand through the bars and caressing its knobbly skin. The infant Kaiju made a noise, like a chirp but seventy times louder, deafening.

“This is one of the worst ideas in the history of terrible ideas,” Hunk mumbled, arms folded across his chest. Lance let out a sigh.

“We've gone from Evangelion to Cloverfield,” he said. “Like... what are we supposed to do with a baby Kaiju?”

“Kill it,” Keith said viciously. His face was twisted in utter loathing, staring at the creature with such intense disgust that it radiated off him in waves.

“We're not killing it,” Marshal Fala said irritably. She watched Pidge interact with it, an unreadable expression on her face as she tapped her chin thoughtfully.

“Are we gonna train it to be on our side?” Lance asked sarcastically.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Marshal Fala replied. “Pidge is going to Drift with it.”

All three of them stared at her. She didn't seem unduly perturbed by their incredulous scrutiny and simply walked back over to Pidge and Dr Holt.

“Remember when I said this was the worst idea ever?” Hunk said, gulping. “It's... actually so much worse than that.”

* * *

Shiro sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the space between his feet. He felt about five feet away from his body, disconnected, not quite tethered, and the sensation was disorienting, dizzying, highly unpleasant. He tightened his grip on the edge of the mattress, a futile attempt to anchor himself.

“You're awake.”

He looked up. Allura didn't offer him a smile, but he wouldn't have been able to accept it anyway. He dropped his gaze again, heard her cross the room and sit on the chair in front of him.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I should never have demanded this of you.”

He took a deep breath, forcing down anger, gritting his teeth behind tight lips. “It's not you, it's me.”

“Shiro...”

“I'm useless,” he spat. “Useless.” His voice rose. “What's the fucking point of a Ranger who can't pilot?!”

“And what use am I then, Shiro?” she asked, her voice deceptively calm. He looked up, met her gaze. She was sitting in the chair like it was a throne, straight-backed and rigid and like she was made of ice. “What use am I, a Ranger with a broken spine who can't set foot in a Jaeger without blacking out?”

His eyes widened. “Allura, that's not...”

“Isn't it?” she hissed, and she drew in her own deep breath, eyes closed, and he could see the pain in the set of her face, the memories of a dozen failed attempts at reconnecting in the way they had before. It had broken his heart every time she would scream, but he hadn't been able to stop her, nothing he'd said had deterred her...

There was a silence, long, drawn out, but not heavy. He reached out first, his left hand finding hers. It was her fingers that slipped between his.

“I remember a time,” she said, voice low, tinged with bitterness, “when I was so jealous. I was jealous of Keith, and I was jealous of _you_. Keith was in your head, where I was supposed to be, sharing that connection with you, and you... you were still fighting, still of use, still _whole_ and _powerful_. I'd been replaced, and you didn't look back.”

“Keith wasn't...”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I know, Shiro, I know. But I couldn't help it. It took me forever to get over it.” She reached up, cupping his face, pressing their foreheads together. “You have a place in this world, Shiro. You have a place by my side. I don't care if you can pilot or not, it doesn't matter. I have you back.”

He swallowed. “I... I just feel so powerless now.”

“Then be powerless,” she said. “Own it, my love. You know you are strong. You stayed alive. You've fought enough.”

He drew her into his arms, needing her close, against him, needing to get lost in her presence. She smelt of jasmine and gillyflower, and she was warm, her arms strong around his back. His silent tears fell on her shoulder, dampening her uniform.

* * *

Hunk was grumbling. He'd been grumbling ever since they'd asked for help to build a Pons system big enough and powerful enough to deal with something the side of Rover's head. It was getting on Pidge's nerves.

“Are you going to keep imitating Muttley all afternoon?” they asked casually, their eye twitching and betraying their irritation.

“I need my outlets,” Hunk replied primly. “Besides, this is still the worst idea.”

He was working on a receptor that was roughly the size of a dinner plate, wires and chips scattered across the gurney he was using as a workbench. Pidge had absolute faith in his mechanical abilities – after all, he was the one who'd devised the upgrades for the Mark V Jaegers, the minute things that made them so much better, so much more powerful. A Pons system to fit a Kaiju would be child's play to him.

Pidge wandered over to Rover's cage, gazing up at him. He (in truth, Pidge had no idea, but found themselves using 'he' as a default) seemed irritated at being caged, but Pidge also knew that Allura would probably tear them to pieces if they attempted to let him out. They reached out and Rover pressed his nose to their hand, bumpy and slimy and the closest Pidge had come to a living Kaiju. They were touching a living Kaiju, and it wasn't trying to kill them all.

“Hey, we'll be done soon,” they said. Rover rumbled, low enough to shake the foundations of the hangar, and Hunk let out a string of profanities that Pidge was sure weren't entirely due to the impromptu mini-quake.

They returned to the Pons system, and got back to work.

* * *

Keith had been quiet all day, ever since Rover had been pulled into the hangar. He'd placed himself on the far wall, staring at it with the utmost loathing. Lance didn't want to personally get any closer either, but the thing hadn't tried to eat anybody yet, and while giving a humanity-destroying monster the benefit of the doubt wasn't exactly what Lance wanted, well... he still trusted Marshal Allura with every fibre of his being.

“Trying to stare it to death?” he asked. Keith grunted, and Lance wasn't entirely sure if he'd heard him.

“Magnificent specimen, isn't it?”

Lance turned and was met with the most vivid ginger moustache he'd ever laid eyes on. The man who owned it beamed at him. He was wearing a well-tailored powder blue suit, a bow tie and had a pair of designer sunglasses tucked in his breast pocket.

“Uh... I guess. I haven't encountered many baby Kaiju.”

“Neither have we,” the man admitted. “Imagine my shock when we go to dissect Typhon and this thing bursts out. Oddly docile, as well.”

“Docile?” Keith asked coldly, lip curled in a sneer. “That thing is a monster, you should have killed it.”

“And let this amazing opportunity pass us by?” the man said. “No, my dear boy, this is scientific history.”

Keith whipped his head away, muttering under his breath. Lance knew exactly where he was coming from, and the words “scientific history” seemed so callous they made him slightly nauseous.

“But, to be honest... I have a feeling this might be humanity's last chance to discover a way to survive.”

Lance looked at him, frowning slightly. This ginger-haired New Zealander was bizarre in so many ways, Lance had no idea how to define him. Hell, he didn't even know the man's name. He cleared his throat.

“Um, I'm Lance McClain Sanchez,” he said, holding out his hand. The man shook it.

“Coran Raible,” he replied. “Head of the Pan-Pacific Defence Corps' clean-up division. Also, Allura's stepfather.”

 _That_ managed to tear Keith's attention away from Rover. He gaped at Coran, who merely smiled serenely.

“So you're married to her mother...?” Lance asked in confusion.

“Allura doesn't have a mother,” Keith muttered, brows knitted.

“Coran was married to her father.”

Shiro looked weary, heavy bags under his reddened eyes. He was drawn, pale, shoulders rounded, hands in his pockets, but he managed to summon a smile and embrace Coran like an old friend.

“It's good to see you again,” he said. Coran nodded.

“It's definitely good to know you're back,” he replied. Keith scowled.

“Wait, you _know_ him?”

Shiro chuckled. “Of course I do. I am _engaged_ to Allura, you know. And, well... Coran used to be an instructor when I was in the Garrison.”

“Best student I ever had, before I changed divisions,” Coran said proudly.

Shiro dropped his gaze, not allowing anyone to see his expression, and his eyes wandered over to Rover. “I see you brought a present,” he said. Coran shrugged.

“It's possibly the only solution left,” he said. “What else could I do? I want this war over as much as anyone else. Possibly even as much as Allura.”

Lance bit his lip, keeping the multitude of questions he had from pouring out. There was so much backstory here, so much about Marshal Fala he didn't know, and wanted to. He admired her almost as much as he admired Shiro (and if he'd also had her posters from her time as a Ranger, well, he was only a normal, hot-blooded adolescent male), feared and respected her like any subordinate would... this tantalising glimpse into her life was far more interesting than he'd ever expected.

He kept his mouth shut, though, and turned back to Rover.

* * *

“I think it's ready!”

Pidge hurried over to the gurney. Hunk sat back, pulling off his gloves and wiping his glistening upper lip, looking proud of himself.

“This is _amazing_ , Hunk,” Pidge gasped. It was a perfect replica of the headset of the Pons system – or at least as perfect as you could get with improvised scraps – except huge, definitely big enough to fit on Rover's head. Pidge studied every inch of it, taking in the electrodes and the wires, the cables and the neuron sensors. It was a work of art. They grinned and threw their arms around him, barely able to get around his belly.

“You're the best!”

Hunk sniffed. “I try, my dude,” he said humbly. “Now... how do we try this baby out?”

“Let's get it all set up first.”

Hunk wheeled the gurney over to Matt's old Pons system hardware, where it stood next to Rover's cage. Pidge had done their best to refine it further, and had added a third, human-sized headset. Caught halfway between their usual curiosity and cold dread born from experience, they began setting everything up as Hunk looked on, very obviously placing Pidge and the various contraptions between him and Rover.

“You sure you can do this?” Hunk asked.

“I've kind of... done it before,” Pidge mumbled, swallowed their anxiety as best they could. There was working under pressure, and then there was _this_ : having the entire future of humanity riding on the slimmest gamble wasn't fun. “And, well... I'm not doing this alone, this time.”

They connected the main cable of the giant headset to the Pons system, and pushed the gurney so it bumped against the bars of the cage. Rover tilted his head, rumbling curiously.

“Hey, Rove, we're going to do a little experiment, mkay?” Pidge said, patting a stretch of skin near his nostril comfortingly. “Gotta get these on.”

It wasn't easy to reach through the bars and place the electrodes and sensors, but Rover was surprisingly cooperative, moving his head when Pidge needed it moved, and keeping still when he was ordered to.

“You look fancy as fuck,” Pidge said proudly once they were done. Rover blinked his four eyes at them, but made no other noise.

That was when Sam appeared. He let out a long breath, staring up at Rover with something that looked like resignation on his face. “I guess we're doing this.”

“No other choice,” Pidge replied. They watched their father lift his headset up, hold it delicately like he would a crown made of glass, and stare at it. “Matt wouldn't have wanted us to waste this chance,” they murmured. They placed their own headset over their mop of hair, and watched Sam do the same.

“Pidge?”

“Yeah, Dad?”

He pulled them close, tight against him, arms wrapped around their slight shoulders. “I'm really so proud of you, you know.”

Somewhere deep down, Pidge had known it. Their achievements up until now had been the best the family had ever seen, and though Sam had never said it, Pidge had known, because he'd shown it. Hearing the words, though... hearing the words was something else entirely. Pidge sniffled, burying their face in his shirt (slightly creased, the same as yesterday's, the powder blue Mom liked).

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too.”

Pidge stayed there a moment longer, being transported back to simpler times when they were ever shorter, their hair was longer, and there were no Kaiju in the world. Sam still smelt of chalk dust and coffee. Those years hadn't lasted all that long.

Pidge pulled back, wiped furiously at their eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Sam replied. Pidge flicked the switch of the Pons system.

* * *

_Reading under the covers, flashlight out, well-past midnight, Dad chuckling, we should get you a bedside lamp, Katie –_

_Electric blue, Kaiju blue, the Breach, a world that makes them for a purpose –_

_Linda, younger but flawless as ever, smiling, her face lit by the pale blue of the aquarium –_

_Mom smiling, Dad smiling, both sitting at the table, telling him he's going to have a baby sister –_

_Exhausted, slumped on their desk, on the verge of tears, because it just won't_ go right _–_

_Something huge, something immense, something artificial –_

_Watching the stars from a cheap telescope, those he can see over the light pollution of the city –_

_Dad shouting, Pidge making gestures behind his back, it doesn't matter, he'll do his research anyway, he has to –_

_Staring in the mirror, frowning at her long hair, everything looking wrong –_

_The final onslaught, humanity is tiresome, they have resisted took long –_

* * *

Pidge tore the headset off. Sam was still reeling from the Drift, his mind probably flashing with a thousand different images. Pidge had only one thing on their mind. They clutched at the bars of the cage, tears rolling down their cheeks, eyes wide. The baby Kaiju stared back.

“Matt?” Pidge whispered.

Rover reached out, pressed his nose against the bars, and Pidge collapsed to their knees, sobbing.

* * *

Sam still had a handkerchief pressed to his nose. Pidge wouldn't move from the cage, hand pressed against the Kaiju's head, eyes red. Allura was used to madness, she was surrounded with it constantly, ever since a gaping void had opened in the ocean and had begun spewing nightmarish beasts the size of skyscrapers to destroy them all. But this... this was something she was having a hard time with.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “So you're saying that the Kaiju is... Matt?”

Sam didn't say anything. Pidge merely nodded.

“He's in there, Allura,” they said tonelessly, voice hoarse. “There were memories that didn't belong to me or dad in there, memories only Matt could have. We need to get him _out_.”

“But you also told me that they're sending something through that's... worse?”

“We have less than a day,” Pidge muttered.

“We need that Breach closed,” Keith said fiercely.

“And just how?” Lance asked. “Sew it shut?”

Pidge blinked. “No, but... it's quantum. We can collapse it.”

Sam finally looked up, right at his child. “A big enough detonation...”

Allura nodded slowly. “We have the means.”

They all looked at her.

“Have a couple of nuclear warheads lying around?” Pidge asked sarcastically. Allura allowed herself a smile. It was suicidal, but it could work. The odds weren't exactly in their favour anyway, any gamble was a plan at this point.

“Yes, and something close enough,” she said. “Let's dust off Voltage Ronin.”

* * *

Voltage Ronin could not have been more different to Gridelin Leo: seeing them next to each other really put it in perspective. Voltage Ronin looked like an ancient tin can, metal scarred with memories of so many battles, the colour dull grey, the conn-pod strangely horned, almost for show, like a samurai helmet.

Lance swallowed. Voltage Ronin was legendary, tearing through ten Kaiju and making it until... until Sendai. He looked over at Shiro and Marshal Fala, veterans of those ten battles. He remembered they'd been partners before Keith had arrived on the scene, but then Marshal Fala had retired, become the supreme commander of the Pan-Pacific Defence Corps, and eventually Keith had stepped in when Gridelin Leo had been brought into existence.

Lance didn't know why she'd retired. He watched them converse, their closeness telling the world what he'd seen in the Drift, in Keith's memories, both staring up at the old Jaeger with unfathomable expressions.

“Who the heck is going to pilot him?” Hunk said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We will, of course.”

Even Shiro looked taken aback by Marshal Fala's statement. She stood there, arms folded, not a flicker of hesitation on her face.

“Allura, _how_?” he asked. “My head, your back... it's not possible.”

She looked at him, took a deep breath. “There's no choice, Shiro,” she said. “We have to. There's no one else.” She turned back to address everyone. She climbed onto a piece of machinery, surveying everyone present. At that moment, she looked mighty, powerful, like someone Lance would more than willingly follow to the ends of the Earth. She always had a presence, but at that moment, no one dared look away.

“This is the moment of truth! This is our last stand! The only chance we have left!” She left a pause, took a deep breath. “We must close the Breach. And we are the only ones who can do it. We are humanity's only hope. We stand together, united, as strong as we can be! Stronger, even! I am not going to lie down and let them take Earth from us! Today... we are cancelling the Apocalypse!”

The spell she'd cast upon them came to a head, and there was a roar, a whole mass of people from so many walks of life crying out their fury and determination, and Lance heard his own voice, he heard Keith's next to him. He reached out, unable to stop himself, and wrapped his fingers around Keith's wrist. He didn't look at Keith, but he knew he'd turned to look at him.

“We can do this,” he said. Keith nodded, once, and Lance let go.

* * *

The spinal clamp fit like it should, sliding into the circuitry of the drivesuit with small, familiar clicks. Once upon a time, that sound had spiked her adrenaline, given her the rush that only battle could give. Now Allura closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and clenched her fists. The metal that kept her vertebrae together, kept her upright and walking, was screeching in her brain. It was like someone was dragging a white-hot knife down her spine, digging into her nerves with jagged claws, almost enough to make her scream. She didn't. She refused to.

Shiro was adjusting the gauntlets of his battle armour, breathing deeply through his nose.

“How many months was the rehab?” he asked, far too casually. She could hear the admonishment in his voice, and the fear.

She remembered each and every one of those days with such vivid clarity it was like she was reliving them, all at once: the pain, the struggle, the screaming, the tears, forever on the edge of giving up.

“Five months, three weeks and three days,” she said, the number etched into her brain. She took a deep breath and walked over to him, stood in front of him, looked him in the eye. He didn't avoid her gaze. “I will be strong enough for you, and you will be strong enough for me. I trust you to keep me standing, and you need to trust me to keep you thinking.”

Shiro leaned forward, gently, his forehead meeting hers. “We might not make it back. Hell, we probably won't.”

“As long as we get the job done,” she said, reaching up to cup his face. He hummed.

“As long as we get the job done.”

Fingers laced together, they left the drivesuit room, and entered Voltage Ronin's conn-pod. The agony that shot through Allura when the spinal clamp joined the harness was enough to make her gasp and tremble, her knees buckling, her vision swimming. How she stayed upright, she had no idea.

 _“I want to do Voltage Ronin first,”_ Hunk said. _“I want to make sure we can do this.”_

“We will,” said Allura, not allowing even a waver of doubt to enter her voice.

_“Initiating neural handshake in fifteen seconds...”_

Shiro chuckled, and Allura turned to him.

“Like the old days,” he said fondly. Allura smiled back.

“I've... missed this,” she murmured.

* * *

_Seawater, screaming, roar of wind and ocean, brine, pain, the stench of fish and ammonia –_

_Shiro chuckling, holding out a small wrapped box, you were looking at this in the window of the jewellery store, so... –_

_The sea... lapping... thirst... –_

_Alfor raising Allura, spinning her around, laughing, the sunshine hot and bright and the seawater warm –_

_Obaachan shelling peas, tapping his hand with a throaty chuckle when he reaches to steal one –_

_Knowing she should talk to him, that they can make it through this together, ignoring his calls every time –_

_Seeing her blueblueblue eyes flutter shut, her head tilt gently, the Christmas lights making her glow, her lips soft and warm –_

* * *

Shiro gasped like a drowning man coming up for air, like he had once before. His head was exploding, but gone were the constant, vicious, continuous images of the Sendak attack. Gone were his days spent floating and waiting for death. Beside him, Allura opened her eyes, sighed in sheer relief.

He could see out of Voltage Ronin's eyes, see Gridelin Leo opposite. He move his arm, Allura followed, and so did Voltage Ronin, the old, clanky sound of cables and hydraulics so familiar he grinned slightly.

_Pilot-Jaeger connection complete._

“We did it,” he breathed. Allura laughed.

“I knew we would,” she said, almost smugly, like she hadn't doubted for a second. And she hadn't, he supposed. Allura had always had so much faith, in herself, in everyone she commanded, in him...

 _“This is so damn awesome!”_ Hunk crowed. _“Now, Gridelin Leo, it's your turn.”_

 _“Ready when you are, buddy,”_ Lance said cheerfully.

Shiro's eyebrows twitched. He'd never quite had the same unity in the Drift with Keith, the ability to communicate wordlessly like he'd had with Allura, and to have it back was... it felt beautiful. He sent Allura an idea, a blurring of images and sensations, and she giggled. She sent back a slight twinge of sadness, and he knew exactly what she meant.

Even if they didn't make it to the other side, the boys had to. They still had everything to live for, after all.

* * *

Drifting with Keith felt seamless, this time around. Even with all the insecurities and self-doubt Lance couldn't help but bring with him into the Drift, there was also the strangely powerful need to see this through, get it done. He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes to the view from Gridelin Leo's.

 _“It's a shame were not closer to the Marianas Trench,”_ Hunk mused over the radio. _“Like... it's gonna take us a while to get there.”_

 _“I've contacted Nagoya and Hong Kong, actually,”_ Marshal Fala said. _“Their Shatterdomes have been decommissioned, but they're still going to help if we need it.”_

 _“Pulling all the old favours, huh?”_ Shiro said with amusement. Marshal Fala chuckled.

_“We need all the help we can get.”_

Keith listened to their exchange with a small smile, and then looked at Lance. “You ready?”

“As I'll ever be,” Lance mumbled. Even though he was determined, he was also terrified. He knew perfectly well this was as good as a suicide mission, Marshal Fala hadn't sugar-coated it. They had two chances, and one of them was only in the event of Plan A going completely wrong. They also had no real idea what would be coming through the Breach to meet them.

With the cavernous sound of slow, heavy machinery, Gridelin Leo was fitted with the nuclear warhead. Marshal Fala had pulled it out of seemingly nowhere barely two hours before, stating, brightly, that she'd been saving it for a rainy day. Today, Lance mused, it was cats and dogs.

“We can do this, ok?” Keith said. “You and me, we've got this. Get in, dump it, detonate it, get out.”

“Get in, dump it, detonate it, get out,” Lance echoed, under his breath. He kept repeating the words, like a mantra, flexing his fingers and steadying his stance on the command platform.

He hoped he'd see the other side.

* * *

It took two hours to reach the Marianas Trench. The cables holding the two Jaegers were released, and they plunged into the dark depths. Then they walked.

“I guess a game of I Spy is out of the question, huh?” Lance quipped, squinting out into the darkness. The Jaegers' lights didn't travel far, basically only illuminating the ground in front of them. Anything could come at them, and they wouldn't see it. The thought was pants-shittingly terrifying.

It was entirely different when you had the land at your back and the waters were shallow. This was practically enemy territory.

 _“The drop zone is two thousand metres away.”_ That was Dr Holt. _“We'll warn you when – oh.”_

 _“Oh?”_ Shiro asked warily.

 _“Looks like we've got an old friend,”_ said Hunk. _“Two Category IV Kaiju on the radar. Codenames Haggar and... Sendak.”_

Lance could easily hear Shiro's intake of breath over the intercom. He heard Keith swear beside him.

“Listen, Shiro, it's not gonna be a repeat of last time!” Keith said fiercely. “We're gonna do this, ok? We can do this.”

 _“A grudge match,”_ said Pidge, sounding far too enthusiastic.

 _“Maybe he wants my other arm,”_ said Shiro darkly.

The ground became steeper, harder to navigate. Pillars of volcanic rock rose from the sea floor, and ahead, glowing eerily, was the drop. The Breach itself, orange and unnatural.

 _“On your left, Leo!”_ Was the only thing Hunk managed to say before something careered into Gridelin Leo's side. Lance and Keith dug their feet in, sediment billowing up behind them as they dig grooves into the seabed. In front of them, clearly visible in the stark LED lights of Gridelin Leo's beams was a thin, alligator-like snout, skeletal and hideous. It snapped at the conn-pod, and Gridelin Leo reared back, pushing against the beast's chest, holding it at arm's length.

Then the Kaiju was pulled back, violently, by a huge hand. Voltage Ronin wrestled it away, an arm clamped around its throat.

 _“Get to the Breach!”_ yelled Marshal Fala. _“We'll deal with this!”_

“Allura...” Keith started.

 _“Go!”_ Shiro grunted.

Gridelin Leo reluctantly turned, continued striding towards the Breach. It loomed ever closer, and Lance could feel the heat even through Gridelin Leo's armour and hydraulics.

A figure loomed across the gaping chasm, lit from beneath by the orange glow. It was heavyset, missing an eye, and snarling savagely.

“Sendak...” Keith whispered.

“Looks like he's not gonna make this easy for us,” Lance said. “We can do this, ok?”

He didn't know why he did it, but he tried to send all the reassurance he could through the Drift, directly to Keith, an attempt to soothe. Keith blinked, let out a breath.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can.”

Lance grinned. Together, he and Keith whipped one of Gridelin Leo's arms back, revealing the chainsword. Gridelin Leo brought it up in front of her face, shifted her stance, and waited. Sendak, across the abyss, roared silently into the water and lunged.

Gridelin Leo pushed the blade, driving welts into Sendak's claws where it met them. Sendak shoved back, close enough for them to look into its eyes, see the emptiness, the flash of white teeth. Gridelin Leo spun, her two pilots working in perfect synchronicity, sending Sendak crashing into a pillar of rock. It crumbled, the water slow the descent of the immense chunks of rock, allowing Sendak to dodge them. The Kaiju charged again, but this time Gridelin Leo was ready.

She met Sendak head-on, shoving her fist into its chest. There was a hum, a brilliant blue glow, and a hole was shot through Sendak's torso. The beast seemed almost surprised at that.

“Double-tap!” Lance said, and Keith was there, responsive as ever, driving the chainsword through Sendak's neck. Its head toppled to the sea floor, electric blue spreading in a delicate fan, like cigarette smoke, from the wound.

“Shiro? Allura?” Keith tried. “We got Sendak!”

There was silence.

“Allura?! _Shiro_?!”

 _“...We're fine. Go! Drop the bomb.”_ Marshal Fala sounded strained, but there was no time to go and check. Gridelin Leo turned and went back to the Breach.

“Here we go, then,” Lance said. “On three?”

Keith nodded. “One... two...”

They both yelled when Gridelin Leo was yanked off her feet, and dragged into the chasm.

* * *

Shiro would have watched Gridelin Leo go, maybe even wished Keith luck, but the distraction in front of them was just too big. Haggar was writhing, snake-like, with long, spidery limbs and three, whipping tails, and it had all of itself tangled around Voltage Ronin like a constrictor. And its hold was tightening, the creaks and groans of Mark I joints and rivets more than telling. If they didn't do something soon, they'd be crushed.

Allura didn't need to say anything: the image of Voltage Ronin's arm blades flashed in Shiro's mind, and he did what he was told. A curved, scimitar-like blade, far longer than Shiro was tall and still dangerously sharp, emerged from Voltage Ronin's forearm. He pulled the arm down, to the left, and it severed one of Haggar's limbs, spreading blue blood through the water.

There was a screech, a sickening sound filtering through the water, twice as sharp as it could ever have been in open air, and Haggar tightened its grip. There was a splintering crash, and Shiro felt pain bolt through his middle, leaving him gasping like he'd been stabbed in the gut. Allura cried out beside him, and they doubled over, unable to move for a moment.

Haggar saw the moment of weakness, and lunged for the conn-pod, snapping its jaws around where the control centre met Voltage Ronin's shoulders. It shook its head, never loosening its grip, and Shiro, to his horror, realised what it was trying to do.

“We need to get it off!” Allura screamed. She raised her hand as best she could, Shiro's movements following hers, and charged up the plasma cannon. The blast only took off two of Haggar's tails, but it was enough to wrench Haggar's jaws from around Voltage Ronin's neck, and enough to get them loose and allow them to stagger back, winded.

Sweat dripped down Shiro's nose, his breath fogging up his helmet visor. Allura was wheezing, and he could feel tendrils of her pain through the Drift, despite how well she kept them to herself. His back was screaming.

He could also feel the connection with Voltage Ronin flickering.

_Pilot-Jaeger connection at seventy-two percent._

Haggar's last remaining tail was around Voltage Ronin's leg, and it had raised its ugly head to almost leer at them.

“Fuck!” Allura spat. She raised Voltage Ronin's arm again, and this time the second arm blade emerged. Voltage Ronin crossed his arms in front of him and waited. Haggar lurched at them, mouth gaping wide, and Voltage Ronin slashed once, twice, three times, hitting flesh and bone whenever it could.

Kaiju blue poured from a myriad of cuts, and Haggar began to lose ground, backing away, unable to get close enough to finish the job. Shiro could feel the lag between his and Allura's movements and Voltage Ronin's actions, but the connection was still there, still strong enough to keep going. He reached through the Drift, almost gentle, and Allura responded, her mind's hand taking his, lacing neural fingers together.

With a fierce swipe, Voltage Ronin slashed at Haggar's face, taking out two of its eyes. With another, a huge gash was torn into Haggar's throat. Haggar finally faltered, a bright blue cloud of blood oozing from it, and Allura charged the cannon again.

“Fuck off,” she snarled. She aimed, and fired, blowing Haggar's head to smithereens.

As Haggar slumped to the ocean floor, Shiro and Allura allowed themselves a moment to simply stand there, panting. The pain was excruciating, the Drift was flickering, and Shiro felt like he was going to be sick.

 _“Shiro? Allura?”_ That was Keith, through the intercom. Neither of them could find the strength to answer.

 _“Allura?!_ Shiro _?!”_

“...We're fine. Go! Drop the bomb,” Allura bit out, and then slumped back in her harness.

_Pilot-Jaeger connection at nineteen percent._

Voltage Ronin toppled back, back hitting the slope that led back to the surface. Shiro tilted his head, cocked his ear, hearing a trickling sound.

“Oh dear,” Allura mumbled. He followed her gaze.

Water had begun pouring into the conn-pod from where Haggar's teeth had left huge rends in the metal. Shiro sighed.

“Just our luck,” he muttered in annoyance. “I get back to you, then we both die.”

“Ironic, isn't it?” Allura said breezily. She reached out, physically, as the conn-pod darkened around them, the HUD shutting down as the neural handshake broke. Shiro took her hand, rubbed her knuckles with his thumb.

“I'm glad to be with you, Shiro. Here, at the end of all things.”

He laughed. “You're turning into me,” he said, breath hitching, and he realised he was crying. There were so many things they hadn't done yet. They were supposed to get married and have children, be happy and not have to worry about the fate of the world. He'd always known, though, in some deep, dark place inside him, that he'd never see that bright future. They'd never live happily ever after like in fairy tales.

“I love you so much,” she murmured, her voice wavering, and he knew she was crying as well.

“I love you too,” he replied. “Allura _vanimelda, namarië._ ”

She laughed, but it sounded more like a sob, and her hand stayed firmly in his as the conn-pod slowly filled.

* * *

Gridelin Leo couldn't get loose, no matter how much she struggled and twisted against whatever had her in its grip. Lance was swearing madly in Spanish, and Keith was close to it. He looked down, orange light engulfing them, they'd lost communication with the surface, and...

It was huge. Bigger than anything he'd ever seen. Its face was as big as Gridelin Leo herself, teeth as long as her forearms, maw gaping, lines like tractor ruts down its face. And it was dragging them down, down, inexorably down, and Keith, for the first time since his fight against the Kaiju had started, was utterly and completely petrified.

He couldn't move. His first instinct was always to fight, fight tooth and nail, survive until the next battle, but this... this was too much. He let out a whimper and went limp in the harness.

“Keith, what the fuck!?”

Keith could barely hear Lance next to him. All he could do was stare. Stare, and wait for death.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Keith, _snap out of it_!”

It hit him like a sledgehammer: the neural equivalent of a slap to the face. He reeled, blinking, whipped around to stare at Lance.

“Get your head in the game, Kogane!” Lance snarled. “We're not fucking dying here! There's something I still need to do.”

Keith swallowed, licked his lips. He nodded. “Plasma gun?”

“It's almost like you can read my mind,” Lance answered with a grin.

Together they aimed down, Gridelin Leo's arm cannon charging. They shot at the claw gripping their ankle, nearly shooting off their foot along with the hideous, log-like fingers.

“Disengaging warhead!” Keith said, and pressed a button.

The warhead dropped, falling after the creature even as it surged back up to devour them. Gridelin Leo aimed the canon down again, chewing on his lip. Keith held his breath. One shot. They had one shot.

“Hasta la later, fucker,” Lance said, and took the shot.

“Thrusters!” Keith cried, and they both flicked their respective switches at the same time.

The blast hit the warhead, mere metres away from the mega-Kaiju. It blossomed into an orange cloud, falling away beneath them as Gridelin Leo's boosters sent them surging back up to the lip of the canyon.

_Left thruster at twelve percent power_

“What the hell?” Lance squeaked. They looked down, the booster jet beneath Lance flickering in and out. Above them, the rim of the chasm was mere metres away, as the Breach began to disintegrate. They were still in it.

“Come on, come on!” Keith hissed. He reached up, Lance mimicking him, and Gridelin Leo's fingers gripped the edge.

They both pulled, rolling over onto the seabed.

Behind them, the Breach imploded, the vacuum sucking in gallons and gallons of water, before spewing it out again with enough force to send Gridelin Leo flying along the bottom of the ocean, into Sendak's mutilated corpse. Sediment billowed, fish flew by, the boom was deafening.

Keith's ears were ringing. Shakily, he and Lance got to their knees, pushing Gridelin Leo upright. They looked back, to the chasm. It was dark.

“Holy fuck,” Lance whispered.

“We... did it,” Keith croaked.

_“Leo? Leo, can you hear me?”_

“Loud and clear, Hunk!” Lance crowed, his voice thick with joy. Keith looked at him, at the sheer elation on his face, and a smile spread over his own. Lance looked amazing when he was happy like that.

_“You did it?”_

“We did it!” Keith responded, laughing.

 _“Well then get out of there!”_ Hunk said, sounding like he was crying and laughing at the same time. _“Japan's sending choppers for you both!”_

Keith's eyes widened. _Shiro and Allura._

“Shit, we have to find them!” he said. Lance nodded.

“Come on!”

* * *

They found Voltage Ronin on his back, not far from Haggar's body. The conn-pod was dark.

“Fuck!” Keith choked, his voice strained.

Gridelin Leo lowered herself down, leaning over Voltage Ronin as Lance and Keith tried to peer inside. The headlight shone, and there were Shiro and Allura, up to their waists in water. Below them, in Voltage Ronin's chest, was the nuclear reactor, the possible Plan B, heavily compromised.

“Shiro!” Keith yelled. Shiro shook his head, and even though communications with Voltage Ronin were down, Lance knew exactly what he meant. He was having none of it.

“Oh no, not to-fucking-day!” Lance snapped. “We're _all_ getting out of this alive.”

He reached for Voltage Ronin's conn-pod, planting Gridelin Leo's knee on Voltage Ronin's chest for leverage, and wrenched with all his might. Keith followed his lead, and with a twisted, echoing groan, the join gave, separating the conn-pod from the body.

“Now let's get out of here before that thing blows,” Keith said.

The conn-pod was heavy, it slowed them down as they made their way back to the surface, a ticking time bomb behind them, even as they held on in their hands.

It seemed to take forever for the light of day to appear, and Lance had never been more grateful to see it before in his life.

“Hold on,” he muttered, to himself, to Keith, to Shiro and Allura. “Hold on, almost there.”

Gridelin Leo breached the surface, and it was like being reborn. The day was cloudy, grim and grey, but to Lance it felt as if the sun were shining.

They kept moving, until Voltage Ronin's conn-pod was clear of the water, and then they stopped.

“I can't take another step,” Lance groaned.

“Send our coordinates through,” Keith said, sounding as exhausted as Lance felt.

 _“Coordinates sent,”_ Hunk replied. _“Hang tight, Leo.”_

 _“You actually did it,”_ Pidge yelled, screaming into the microphone. _“You fucking did it!”_

Lance allowed himself a weary grin. Yeah, they'd done it.

The helicopters arrived not long after, along with an aircraft carrier. Gridelin Leo heaved Voltage Ronin's conn-pod onto the ship, and then cables were thrown down, lifting them clear of the water, heading towards Japan.

Lance allowed himself a moment to nap, but it was so brief it barely mattered. The neural handshake broke, quietly and softly, and Gridelin Leo was set down in front of what had once been the Tokyo Shatterdome.

Lance disconnected from the harness and wearily clambered up and out of the top hatch. He was met with a chill wind that whipped his sweat-drenched hair as he wrenched his helmet off, taking two lungfuls of salt-scented air. He let out a yell of triumph.

He turned at the sound of Keith climbing out of the conn-pod, grinning from ear to ear. He threw his arms around him, laughing joyously.

“We did it! We did it!”

Keith laughed with him, responding to the embrace, seemingly incapable of words. Lance pulled back, locked eyes with him.

Keith's eyes were so strange, almost purple. His face was flushed, his hair plastered to his forehead, his nose running, but dear God, Lance thought he was beautiful.

He surged forward, hands on either side of Keith's head, and pressed his lips to Keith's.

Keith made a noise, uncertain, and pulled back. His eyes were wide.

Lance stared. “I'm... I'm sorry,” he said. He'd been mistaken. He'd been so mistaken, he'd fucked up on the very day of his triumph. Keith frowned slightly in confusion.

“Don't be,” he said, and drew Lance into another kiss.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this, guys! I'm so glad to have written this, and to have finished it. It's been full of ups and downs and a long time coming, but here's the epilogue!

_**March 2025** _

Lance took a deep breath, his hand on the gate. He hadn't been back here in years, but it was still familiar. The white outside was bright, from where his father painted it every summer. The garden was still well-kept, only now it wasn't strewn with children's toys. A dog lay on the porch, but it wasn't one Lance recognised.

He opened the gate and the dog raised its head, cocked it to the left. It was a pit bull, just like their previous dog had been.

“Hey, pupper,” Lance said softly, holding his hand out. The dog waddled up, sniffed his hand, and wagged its tail. “Good boy. Or girl.” He wasn't about to check.

Lance straightened and headed to the door, the dog in two. It sat heavily beside him as he stood in front of the screen, hand twitching, aborting the movement to ring the bell before it could really start.

“Come on, dude, you saved humanity,” he muttered to himself. “You can fucking ring this doorbell.”

He did, and waited.

 _“¿Quién es?”_ asked a voice, opening the main front door. It was a voice he hadn't heard address him in years. He swallowed, lips trembling.

 _“It's Lance,”_ he said. The woman behind the door still. He could see her silhouette through the screen, her curly hair tied back, short soft. She left.

A moment later his father appeared, opening the screen door, and Lance sighed. _“Hola, Papi,”_ he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

Esteban McClain Hernandez had aged. He still had the receding hairline (a probable inheritance Lance was worried about) and deeply olive skin (a certain inheritance Lance was definitely less worried about), but the grey was more obvious now, and the lines deeper. He seemed shorter, as well, and Lance had no idea whether that was because he was taller, or Esteban was older.

Esteban smiled back, a little nervous. _“We haven't seen you for a long time, mijo,”_ he said. _“Are you going to come in?”_

Lance nodded. Esteban led him through the living room, and Lance noticed his mother wasn't there. She was probably in the kitchen, hiding from him. He'd deal with her later.

He sat on the couch, hands clasped between his knees, watching his father ease himself into the armchair opposite. The living room was much the same as he remembered, with the crucifix above the television, the mint-green walls, the family photos. He tended to disappear from those around the same time as Ginebra.

_“So, what have you been doing?”_

Lance shrugged. _“I graduated from the Garrison. Got promoted. To... Ranger.”_

Esteban raised his eyebrows. _“I heard they'd closed the Breach. Good riddance.”_

Lance licked his lips. _“I know, I... I was there.”_ He ducked his head. _“I was one of the pilots that did it. I went down there, in Gridelin Leo, and...”_

He still got flashes, sometimes, in his nightmares. Visions, memories, of the _thing_ that had nearly dragged him and Keith into the abyss. He had vivid terrors, of dying on the bottom of the ocean, his mouth filling with salt water, his lungs burning. He would wake up sweating and shivering, throat raw from screaming as he slept. Maybe he should have taken those mandatory therapy sessions.

 _“We did it._ I _did it.”_ He rose and went into the kitchen, standing in the doorway, before Esteban could stop him.

Julia Sanchez Orizaga was sitting at the table, white knuckles pressed to white lips. She looked up when Lance entered. She'd aged worse than Esteban, silvery roots showing through brown hair-dye, hands knotted, sorrow etched deep in the lines of her face.

 _“I know you wouldn't have cared if I died,”_ he said, and though the words felt like razorblades in his throat, he _had_ to say them. He'd kept them in for so long. _“It wouldn't bring Gin back, so you wouldn't care. But... everything I did wasn't just for her, it was for everyone. No more dead daughters. No more mothers who put the blame on their sons. I'm not here for reconciliation or forgiveness, I'm just here to tell you what I tried to tell you years ago: I didn't let go of her on purpose. If I could have died instead of her, I would. Maybe you'll actually believe me this time.”_

Julia was trembling, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and trailing down her cheeks. Lance left, picking up his jacket from the back of the couch. He happened to meet Esteban's eyes.

 _“See you, Papi,”_ he said.

_“Lance, wait!”_

His hand hesitated on the doorknob, his eyes wide, his shoulders rigid. Those were the first words she'd uttered to him in years.

 _“I'm... I'm sorry, mijo,”_ she whispered. Lance turned back.

_“I... I can't forgive you. Not yet, anyway. I just... I tried, and you didn't care. I don't owe you forgiveness, but... I might be able to forgive you, one day. I just wanted to tell you what I'd done, in case you might want to be proud of me.”_

He kept his tears inside until he was back in his car, arms folded on the steering wheel, sobbing brokenly.

* * *

Pidge sat, cross-legged, in front of a sleeping Matt. He'd been let out of the cage a while ago, the hangar his new home. It was where Pidge spent most of their time now, as much as they physically could, and when Pidge wasn't there, Sam was. Colleen never visited – she didn't believe it was Matt behind those four alien eyes.

At first, Pidge had tried to find a solution. They'd begged Hunk for help, tried their hardest to find a way to get Matt back in his body, but...

“The Drift requires all participants to be cerebrally functioning,” Hunk had said. “Your brother is in a vegetative state, you wouldn't be able to make the neural handshake. I'm so sorry, Pidge.”

And Pidge had seen what was on the other side of the Breach, how they'd created the Kaiju. Matt may have ended up inside a foetus, but he was just as much of a Frankenstein's monster of a creation as the rest of them: organic patchwork, seamless but unsteady, and built only for the purpose of destroying civilisation. They had a year with him, maybe two.

“You need to sleep, sweetheart.”

Pidge rubbed their eyes, glancing at their watch, its hands glowing in the dark: 1:35 am.

“He'll still be here in the morning,” Sam said softly. Pidge drew in a sharp breath, fresh tears welling up.

“But what if he _isn't_?!” they cried, shoulders shaking. “What if I wake up and he's gone again!?”

Sam drew them to him, pressed their head to his chest.

“I go to sleep with the same fear,” he said. “But, dear God, I don't want to lose both of you.”

Pidge wrapped their arms around him, burying their face in his jumper.

There was a low rumble, the kind that shook the rafters, and both father and child looked over. Matt's snout was close to them, and Pidge threw their arms around it, squeezing as hard as they could.

“I'll see you in the morning, Matt,” they said.

* * *

It was raining. Apart from the low hum that seeped through the windows and the gentle ticking of the old clock on the wall, everything else was quiet. She could see the sea from the window, see the white-capped steel waves washing against the shore. The glass was cold against her forehead, but not unpleasant.

“Hey.”

Shiro's voice was soft from the doorway. She turned her neck as best she could, unable to twist her body yet, and smiled slightly.

“Yes?”

“Wanted to ask whether you wanted anything to drink?”

It was fine like this, just the two of them and occasionally Keith. Shiro was so caring, so sweet, that even the sheer frustration she felt with rehabilitation was lessened. And for Shiro's part, she could keep the nightmares and ghosts at bay, if just for a while.

“Tea, please,” she said. He nodded.

She turned back to the window. It was three brief, never-ending weeks away, and she would be lying if she said she didn't feel a little afraid. She'd felt like a widow before she'd even been a wife, and that was taking just as long to unlearn as relearning to walk. She'd hoped to be walking by the wedding, and here she was, almost in April, barely able to get to the kitchen without the wheelchair. The only consolation compared to the first time was that now she actually _could_ take all the time in the world. It didn't need to be saved anymore. The thought still shocked her, sometimes.

Shiro returned not long after with two mugs. She held them as he sat, draping her still rather useless legs over his lap and settling against the window. He took back his mug and took a sip.

“Sometimes I remember we almost died on the bottom of that ocean,” she said, her fingers tight against the warmth of her mug.

“Cheerful,” he said archly, and she chuckled.

“I know, but... it's so strange to be without a purpose.”

She'd been carrying the world on her shoulders for so long, she didn't really know what to do with herself now the weight had been lifted. There was nothing getting her through the days, nothing to wake up for in the mornings, everything melted together into a long succession of strange ennui. She wasn't bored, just slightly bewildered, a stranger in a familiar land.

“I'd forgotten what free time was like.”

She hadn't really found anything to do yet, not like Shiro had. Once upon a time, he'd wanted to visit the stars. Now he looked to the past, and had an essay due next week on the repercussions of the Congress of Vienna.

“I've been thinking,” he said. “You... like plants. What about... botany?”

She took a long sip of her drink, her lips pursed thoughtfully.

“You know... I like that idea very much.”

* * *

_**April 2025** _

Hunk's hugs were bone-breaking, and Lance adored them. It was like getting out of a warm bath into chilly winter air when Hunk pulled away and held him at arm's length to survey him with a critical expression.

“You just went AWOL and didn't say anything. Not cool, brah.”

Lance shrugged weakly. Hunk dropped the faux-stern facade and smiled softly.

“I know you needed to get away for a while,” he said. “It's good to have you back again, though. We missed you.”

Lance grinned. It was good to be back, really. Even though he hadn't been there all that long, the Castle of Lions felt like home more than the Garrison in Arizona ever had. Stepping back into the cavernous halls – which were being decommissioned and repurposed all around them as they walked – was like being pulled into a warm embrace again.

“How's it been going?” he asked, hands in his pockets.

“Well... Allura and Shiro have mainly been at home doing their own thing, she left me in charge. Pidge and Sam have set up shop with Matt in the hangar, so that's staying. We're converting a part of it into real living quarters, but I don't think Mrs Holt will be visiting anytime soon...” Hunk sighed. “It's mostly just been me and Shay, and...” He faltered.

“You can say Keith, you know,” Lance said casually, trying to sound disinterested when his stomach was churning and his heart was stormy.

It had all happened so fast: the press conferences, the tours, the debriefings, the accolades, the interviews... he hadn't been able to even discuss anything with Keith. He'd _wanted_ to, but part of him was also far too afraid to. What snatches of free time he'd had had been spent sleeping, and within that slumber lay nightmares and ghosts: the huge creature beyond the Breach haunted his dreams, and beyond that were phantom memories that didn't belong to him. Temazepam helped, but damn, he didn't want to be on meds for the rest of his life.

So he'd left. He'd done what he supposed some would call soul-searching for a while, gone back to the Garrison to stick it to a now eerily obsequious Iverson (who was busy telling anyone who'd listen some bullshit about how he'd always known Lance would be going places, the fucking hypocrite), spoken to his family, travelled a bit, gotten drunk and he _might_ have had a couple of one-night stands with guys that looked disturbingly like Keith, and... perhaps he wasn't doing as well as he should have been, but he was back now. He could do better.

Hunk chuckled nervously. “Yeah, well... he's around. You really should have at least texted him.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “I didn't come back for a sermon,” he muttered, even though he could feel the guilt on him like tar.

“Right, you came back for a wedding.” Hunk's grin turned wide and happy. “It's gonna be so good! It's like the happy ending they deserve.”

“It's been a long time coming, huh?” Lance said. He might not have known about Shiro and Marshal Fala until he'd had a peek into Keith's mind, but damn, they made the world's loveliest couple. And the fact they'd been reunited at all was a miracle in and of itself.

However, he still had to avoid Keith until the wedding in two days' time. He could do it, no big deal.

* * *

The Castle of Lions was, thankfully, big enough to easily dodge pretty much anyone he didn't want to. He visited Pidge, Dr Holt and Matt (and it was strange to think that the consciousness of Pidge's comatose brother was within the body of a baby Kaiju, but Matt was nice enough), and spent a lot of time with Hunk and Shay, who didn't seem to think he was intruding on their couple time at all. Shay always seemed genuinely happy to see him, as much as Hunk, which Lance was grateful for.

The next day Shiro and Marshal Fala were coming back, and Lance knew he'd have to encounter Keith. Part of him, the cowardly part, wasn't looking forward to it, and wanted to run far, far away and never come back. The other part, the part that thought of Keith and remembered the feel of his lips and the glorious unity of the neural connection, was desperate to see him. He had no idea what to feel.

Shiro and Marshal Fala looked good: smiling, happy, content. It made Lance happy by proxy to see them. Shiro was pushing her wheelchair, Marshal Fala obviously still not quite up to walking, and they both beamed when they set eyes on Lance.

“It's good to see you!” Shiro said, and there was real, sincerity there, filling Lance with warmth. Lance extended his hand, but Shiro pulled him into a hug, and Lance's brain short-circuited. He'd had daydreams about being hugged by Shiro for a hundred different reasons, and here he was. It was happening. When had his life become so surreal?

Marshal Fala was next. She beckoned Lance down into her own embrace, the pleasant smell of flowers surrounding him, and he was just as surprised as before. It wasn't every day you got a hug from your commanding officer.

“It's really good to see you too, Shiro, Marshal.”

Marshal Fala frowned good-naturedly. “Now now, Lance, I'm not your CO anymore.” Her face evened out into a smile. “Just Allura is fine.”

Lance blushed slightly. “Yes... Allura.”

She chuckled sweetly, taking years off her. “It's wonderful to have you here, Lance. Thank you. For everything.”

Lance's blush deepened, and he had no idea how to respond to that. Being a hero and gaining the gratitude of people you'd admired for so long didn't really change much at all.

But then Keith walked in, and Lance knew that everything had changed irreversibly.

Keith hesitated, which was uncharacteristic. He swallowed, looked away, and Lance lowered his gaze as well. The tension was thick, palpable, cloying, and he felt ashamed of himself: this was Shiro and Allura's moment, and he was ruining it. They, however, barely seemed bothered – Allura wheeled herself away briskly, chatting to Shay, and Shiro followed. That left Keith and Lance alone.

“Hey,” Keith mumbled, quieter than Lance had ever heard him. Keith didn't do quiet, it was unnerving, and Lance felt impossibly guilty.

“Hi,” he replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Silence fell between them, awkward, and it drew itself out, dilated, making Lance cringe.

“I missed you,” Keith blurted. He stepped forward, his hand going to Lance's arm. Lance fought to stay still, torn between wanting to back away and wanting to pull Keith into his arms.

Now he was here, looking at Keith, holding his gaze, all those bottled feelings came bubbling back to the surface. Keith was still handsome, with his almost purple eyes and jet-black hair and soft-but-sharp features. Lance gulped, took a deep breath.

“I...” He could lie. But he didn't _want_ to lie. “I missed you too. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I just disappeared. I needed...”

“Time?” Keith said. His touch left Lance's arm, and Lance found himself missing the small patch of warmth. He nodded.

“Yeah. I mean...” He _wasn't_ going to lie. “You'd treated me like shit until I was useful to you, I needed to figure out whether what I felt was just because of the connection or it was real.”

Keith's face twisted, looking pained. “Lance, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You deserved better.” He paused. “Have you... have you figured things out?”

Lance pursed his lips. “I think so. I do like you, Keith. I like you even though your social skills are shit and you're always angry.” Lifting his hand was like trying to lift a dead weight, but once it had found Keith's, taking it, twined their fingers together, it felt as light as a feather.

Keith looked at him, eyes burning, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He looked insecure, so much younger, nothing like the furious man who fought the entire world. “I'm kind of dumb,” he admitted. “And, well... I've never felt something like this before, I didn't know what it was until you kissed me.” He flushed slightly, turning sheepish. “That was, uh, my first kiss.”

Lance blinked. “Wait, what?”

Keith groaned. “Don't make me say that again,” he grumbled. Lance sniggered.

“That's adorable.” He sighed. “Listen, do you... want to try this?”

Keith's hand tightened around his own, and he nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

* * *

Allura had never exactly been one for tradition, and she was determined her wedding would be no exception. She was also determined to walk down that bloody aisle, side-by-side with Shiro, chair be damned. She took a deep breath and stood, a little shaky, but with gritted teeth and a clenched fist.

She linked her arm through Shiro's, and he smiled at her.

“Ready?” he asked. He didn't question her decision to walk, he only supported her. They’d always been that way. She nodded.

“I didn't nearly die on the bottom of the ocean to let you slip away again,” she replied breezily, and he laughed.

She’d let him pick the music, because she’d picked the cake. She remembered the meaning behind _The Grey Havens_ – you didn’t live in close proximity to Takashi Shirogane without become an expert in lovely but futile things – and she liked it. It felt strangely fitting.

She kept her steps as steady as she could, her back aching far less than she’d anticipated. She sat in the chair in front of the celebrant, sighing in relief, and felt suddenly a thousand times more nervous than she ever had before. She’d faced off against twelve Kaiju and come back alive, why was this so terrifying? Her heart hammered, and she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes. She blinked, keeping them in. Not yet.

“Friends and family,” said the celebrant, “we are gathered here today to witness the union of Takashi Shirogane and Allura Fala, who’ve come so far and through so much to finally be joined in marriage…”

Allura barely heard the rest, until it was Shiro’s moment to talk. He took her hands, and she could feel they were shaking as much as her own. It was almost comical, and she bit her lips, fighting down laughter. She could see him doing the same, biting down on the inside of his cheek.

“Allura,” he said, “I… I have so much I want to say, but I don’t have the words to say it. I didn’t prepare anything, because I knew you wouldn’t appreciate anything that isn’t spontaneous, so… I love you. I can’t do more than that. I can only hope I’ve proved it, and that’s enough. I love you, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you and nothing is going to stop me. Nothing has s-so far.”

He ducked his head, drawing in a shuddering breath, and Allura could see his shoulders shaking. She stood, pressed her hand to his cheek, taking a deep breath of her own.

“Oh, Shiro… I’ve always asked so much of you, taken and taken and I feel I’ve never given back… Sometimes I wonder why you’re still here. But then you look at me like I’m something special and I… I feel like I deserve it.” Her words faltered, lip trembling, and she pressed her forehead to his. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life with you, and nothing is going to stop me.”

He smiled, and oh, he was so handsome, even with tears in his eyes. One hand warm, the other cool on her cheeks, she smiled back.

“You haven’t exchanged rings yet, but you may now kiss the bride,” the celebrant said with a chuckle.

Allura pulled him close, pressing her lips to his, and he pressed back, and she could almost feel every single beautiful shining particle of his affection in that kiss. He was here, with her, solid and real and perfect in his imperfections, and she wasn’t ever going to let go of him again.

* * *

“I can’t _believe_ you had the rings made with metal from Voltage Ronin,” Pidge said in absolute disgust. Keith frowned.

“That seems really romantic, to me,” he said. Pidge made a face that clearly said they were just as horrified with Keith, but Shiro and Allura merely laughed it off. Lance just propped his chin on his hand, watching everyone: Allura was radiant, made of moonlight in her white dress with her white hair, and Shiro was dashing in his suit as well. Nothing too fancy, of course, it wouldn’t have suited them. But most of all, Lance was watching Keith.

His best man speech had sucked. It had been awkward and stammered and he’d even had flashcards, the poor soul. They hadn’t helped. God help him, Lance adored his disastrous attempts at being a socially normal human being. He also looked extremely good-looking with his hair slicked back and his red tie and well-cut suit that fit in all the places Lance liked to look.

Lance took another sip of his champagne, enjoy the pleasant buzz and the bubbles on his tongue. For the first time in ages, he felt like he finally fit somewhere. He had friends, nothing short of fire-forged, and he… he liked it. He didn’t feel so empty, anymore.

He stood, wandering over to a tree, and looked over the ocean. The moon was fat and waxy tonight, dripping onto the waves, and it was so weird to think that there was no danger lurking below anymore.

“Are you ok?”

Lance turned and smiled.

“Yeah, I’m actually great,” he said. He held out his hand, and Keith took it without a moment’s hesitation. That felt good.

It felt even better when Keith leaned close and their shoulders pressed together, warm and comforting.

“Um…”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

His only answer was a soft touch of Keith’s lips, more a question than anything. Lance smiled into it, and kissed back. He raised his free hand, wove it into Keith’s hair, pulling him closer, and Keith relaxed into his touch, sighing, winding his arm around Lance’s waist. 

Beyond them, the horizon was quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions, don't hesitate to send me asks on my [Tumblr](http://materassassino.tumblr.com)! I hope you all enjoyed this!


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